Star Mile
by Amphytrion
Summary: Wendy is older now and coming to realize that not everything is as simple as good triumphing over evil. Hook/Wendy.
1. Prologue

**Star Mile**

**Disclaimer:** I can claim no ownership to any rights associated with Peter Pan.

**Author Notes:** This story is named after a Joshua Radin song of the same title. It concerns Wendy and Captain Hook, a pairing I have recently come to enjoy. Please rest assured that Wendy is not a child.

I liked the 2003 film's portrayal of the characters Mr. Barrie brought to us so much that it is them I think of when I read the book or write this story (especially Jason Isaacs). This is also my first fan fiction in the Peter Pan universe, so please feel free to offer advice if you think it will help. I appreciate any reviews.

Thank you.

**Prologue.**

Wendy Darling was not an ordinary girl; by 19, she had already experienced adventures one thousand times more exciting and interesting than whatever she might learn in lessons at school or from her peers, and she knew it. That kind of knowledge can be dangerous in the wrong mind. She might have become arrogant and unapproachable. She might have believed that because what she learned in lessons was not as exciting as events in her past it wasn't worth learning. She might have decided nothing was more important than what she already knew, and that the only thing for her to do was to relive it over and over without any thoughts for the future. She might have, but she didn't, and she was better for it. From the dullest arithmetic lecture to the most thrilling philosophical question, she strived to understand new things outside her own ideas. She was clever enough to understand that learning new things made her stories even better, and, after all, it was her stories about which she cared most. As she grew older, her stories grew better. They were still filled with the innocent imagination of a child, but also carried the weight of knowledge.

As it happens, Wendy spent a lot of time writing her stories in a courtyard at her finishing school. It was a less popular area of the campus because it was far enough away from the dormitory to be inconvenient, but Wendy thought it had the nicest flowers, and the lack of impish girls running though it might be the reason. She found the peace and quiet she needed there, and some of the best things she ever imagined were born in that courtyard. There were days of endless dreaming about adventures and comedies—even some tragedies. She would compose her stories first in thought, and then write them out, clearly and perfectly on the page. There was never a wrong stroke of her pen, never a spare drop of ink, and the pages always stayed crisp and clean. Most of this painstaking work was done for her own sake out of an obligation to neatness that she found within herself, but it did occur to her that it was only polite to make one's stories easy to read should she ever decide to let anyone read them. But Wendy preferred to tell her stories like the great poets and bards of old. She wanted to be like Homer when he relayed the account of Odysseus. Sadly, as she got older her audiences grew rarer and rarer. Now that they were nearly done with school and practically ladies, her friends were more interested in dresses and men and parties than they were in magic or pirates or goblins. Once in a while, they begged her to regale them with a story of a beautiful princess who won the affection of the noblest prince after some terrifying and almost tragic adventure. She obliged, but it was bittersweet. Part of her still wanted to live forever in that land of Happily Ever Afters, but now that she was older and more accomplished in her talent and understanding, she knew it couldn't always be that way.

Her greatest joy was when she could go home for holiday and her brothers, who were on the fast track to growing up themselves (almost too fast, Wendy thought), would ask to hear her newest plot invention. Sometimes they wanted old favorites, but she liked that just as well when it was for them. The three of them—Wendy, John, and Michael—had been in their own adventures together in Neverland, and met their adoptive brothers, The Lost Boys. No matter how grown up they got, they would always share a special understanding among them that can't even be explained. When they were all home, they would go up to the nursery at night and sit at the window, staring out at the sky and talking of Peter Pan and the mermaids and Indians. They would mention the pirates sometimes, but the thought of Captain Hook always caused a shudder to run through their little huddle. For the boys, it was because they were still terrified of him, and the memories of near death at his hand were too frightening to deal with. For Wendy, it was more complicated.

"After all," she would tell herself, "we didn't die, and perhaps there is some redemption for Hook." Or there would have been, if he hadn't died. What made her shudder at his memory was not the distress in which he had placed her, but the barbaric quality of his final moments, during which he maintained his polite formalities. The moment it happened, even though she had been caught up in the excitement of passing danger, she felt her stomach tighten. It was no trouble to ignore it when she was twelve; she didn't even understand it. She often featured him in her imagined stories now, but he was different in her eyes. He was still himself, still a killer, still a pirate, still trying to destroy Peter Pan, but there was a new facet to him in her imagination. He was noble somehow; he was fair. She never exactly considered the idea that maybe—probably not, but maybe—Hook was not totally in the wrong for his bloodlust against Peter. She didn't know the events that led to his hand being cut off, and now that she was older and understood things even only a little more, she had to admit that it might not be as simple as Hook being completely evil to Peter's complete good. Another thing she never really acknowledged to herself was some of the slightly unnerving characteristics of her childhood hero and love. None of this was ever discussed during her holidays with John and Michael or the others because she knew they would think she was being daft. She couldn't even discuss it with herself.

If Wendy was just a little bit simpler, if she was a little less extraordinary in her thinking about people, then she wouldn't be troubled. She would remember that Hook tried to kill her and her brothers, and that Peter Pan saved them and that would be all. There would be no nagging guilt or curiosity about motives and actions. She would divide them into two separate categories like in her older stories of Good triumphing over Evil… But Wendy was no ordinary girl.


	2. Back to the nest

"Wendy, it is marvelous to have you home!" George Darling gently placed his hands on his daughter's face to cup her cheeks. Wendy saw his eyes twinkling when he bent to kiss her forehead. He always looked at her like that since the night she returned from Neverland. He was still a proper gentleman, but he would never again be too proper to show affection to his children. "How proud we are of you."

"Father," she giggled, "it's only finishing school."

"_Only_ school? Is that what my daughter said?" Wendy's father adopted his friendly commander face and stuck his index finger out, proudly pointing toward the ceiling of the drawing room. "You and I both know that schooling is of the most fundamental—"

"Yes, of course, Father. And I am _finished_. Thank you for being proud of me." Wendy silenced her father with a hug that also served to hide the annoyed look on her face when she thought about some of what passed for education in a finishing school. They taught her enough academia to make her interesting, but a lot of what she knew was self taught. The school was more interested in making sure she knew how to properly arrange flowers in a vase or how to set a table. "Are the boys home, yet?"

"Their term lasts another week," George smiled at his daughter and placed one hand on her back to lead her into a sitting room as he continued, "but there are two other very special people awaiting you as we speak. Let us not keep them longer."

Wendy and her father walked into the sitting room where her mother, Mary, and her Aunt Millicent were sitting on a pale yellow sofa, and she thought she'd never seen the latter look more pleased. Her mother's lips rose gracefully into a smile just as her body rose gracefully to greet her daughter. Wendy would always admire her mother more than any person in the world, but not because she was beautiful. She was also gracious and charming, and she was singularly gifted at being a mother. Wendy knew that she could have brought one hundred Lost Boys home with them and it wouldn't have been too many; there would always be more than enough love for everyone from Mary Darling.

Aunt Millicent had different qualities. She loved the children as much (and almost certainly more) than the grandest society party, and that was saying something; the only part of her aunt that unsettled Wendy was the hungry look in the older lady's eyes when she talked about her niece's future. Wendy suspected it had less to do with her own happiness and more to do with rules and propriety. Finishing school taught her that, even if Aunt Millicent hadn't been there to do it.

"Ooooh! Our little bird is back!" Wendy gasped as two long, silk-wrapped arms enveloped her and she thought it funny to be called a bird for the second time in her life. When she was finally released, she was made to sit on the sofa between her mother and her aunt. George sat in a plush chair across from them and called for tea, but Wendy knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant afternoon sipping tea with her family. Wendy knew she had been snared in a trap, and she already felt suffocated by the three sets of gleaming eyes all looking at her with different manners but the same intent: now that she was a young lady, it was time to find her a young man. If she really was a bird, she would have flown away before the first drop of tea made it out of the pot.

Hours passed like centuries as each of Wendy's elders relayed the different reasons to start accepting offers of courtship. She did her best to politely nod when appropriate and smile here or there, but the idea of having such a huge change as courtship and marriage forced upon her before she'd been home ten minutes was overwhelming. She allowed her right pinky to trace the delicate pattern on the yellow sofa while idly listening to her family talk about her in a way that made her wish she wasn't there to hear it.

"If we wait too long, then there won't be as many offers to choose from."

"You want to jump on it right out of finishing school so her training is still fresh."

"Of course, our Wendy wouldn't slack in her duties ever, but you're right, Millicent, best to work on it now, while she's still young."

"It was luck, really, that brought George to me. We can't hope for the same again in our lifetime, so we must have as much time to find someone perfect as possible. It would be positively horrid if our angel had to settle."

After dinner, Wendy sat alone in the nursery, still reeling from the afternoon's conversations. Still_ young._Still _fresh._ She felt like a piece of meat just carved from the carcass of a dead animal. If she wasn't sold and cooked soon, then she'd spoil, and no one would want her. Was that really true? Was her mother's beauty preserved only because of marriage? Wendy was smart enough to know better than that, but her current mood let her think a lot of silly things.

The worst part was hearing people who loved her talking like they did and knowing it was _because_ they loved her. Her mother and father didn't make the rules, but they certainly played by them. Aunt Millicent was definitely more motivated to play society's games, but Wendy didn't believe for a second that her aunt would sell her to the highest bidder just to win standing. Indeed, the worst part about all of it was that its origin was in love. All three adults in her family life wanted her to be happy, and the only thing they thought could do it was finding her a gentleman. Of course she would love to be loved in that special way, and to find someone with whom she could share every secret and open up the drawer where she kept her dreams, but it didn't seem like the kind of thing one should have to actively look for. Shouldn't it happen like magic; isn't that what Wendy's mother meant when she said it was luck that brought George to her? For Wendy, the worst part of growing up was forgetting magic.

Crossing the nursery, Wendy opened the large window that started all of her adventures and kneeled there, wishing she really was a bird so she could fly away to a place where it was still okay to believe in magic, even if she was almost grown up.


	3. Into Neverland

Wendy startled herself awake in the middle of the night when the sky is impossible to read for time. It's not exactly black, but not blue, either; instead, a translucent grey spread as far as she could see. It was the kind of sky that would blend into the sea if she was on a ship looking for the horizon. Even the stars only managed faint twinkles through the eerie night sky, but Wendy thought it beautiful. 'I say,' she thought, 'it must really be the middle of the night.' She shivered from the chilled air blowing through the open window in front of her, but she didn't move. She wanted to watch that sky forever, and even if she felt like getting up, sleeping in such a cramped position had left her sore.

Even the aching in her limbs didn't stop her from sitting bolt upright when she saw a flash in the sky among the countless miles of stars. Her small hands clutched the windowsill until her knuckles whitened, and she leaned dangerously far out the window as if, somehow, it would give her a better look at what happened. Immediately, she began imagining scenario after scenario: Perhaps it was a star spirit falling from the window of her fiery carriage; maybe it was a ship that could float in the air; could it be an angel? Dozens of ideas crossed her mind, except one that she barred. She avoided wondering if it was Peter, even though she knew the moment she saw the spark that it was familiar to her because she'd seen it before. She'd seen the same flashes in the sky when Peter had come for her. Too many springs had passed without him honoring his promise for her to let that hope into her heart again. Trying to avoid thinking of things that would only sadden her, Wendy stood up to close the window. Her body was stiff, and she winced more out of aggravation than pain. Yawning, she allowed herself to stretch from toes to scalp, and she raised her arms above her head. As her back arched her bones cracked, she let out a sigh that quickly turned into a yelp.

"Wow, Wendy, you make old person noises and everything!" a voice rang through the greyness.

"Peter!"

In a magnificent display of agility, Peter Pan swooped into the window, spun several times around the ceiling, and came to land directly in front of Wendy. Chest out, arms bent, fists on his hips, he stood as proudly as ever, except for one thing. He was looking extremely perplexed that, since Wendy had grown into a young lady, he had to crane his neck to peer up at her. "It's worse than I thought," he said, actually looking hurt.

Wendy, having already had her fill of other people appraising her, grated her teeth and crossed her arms at her chest. "I didn't do it on purpose, Peter. Growing up happens to all of us," she sighed, adding "except you" to please him. "What on earth are you doing here, Peter?"

"It's spring!" He was extraordinarily pleased with himself and did a back flip that landed him on her old bed and held his arms wide open. "I promised!"

"Peter…" Wendy felt her heart break a little at his innocence. Why couldn't she still be like that? Did she really want to, though? She stepped closer to the bed, smiling softly. "Peter, it's summer; spring has passed. I'm afraid several springs have passed since I came home."

"It's spring in Neverland!" Peter was brimming with excitement, and he flipped over her head onto the floor behind her, instantly grabbing her hand to spin her around. "There are new Lost Boy's you've not met! Please, Wendy, please come back! We're all out of stories." Every inch of him quivered with excitement as he bounced from his heels to his toes; even his ears twitched.

"Might I even be able to go back now, Peter? Am I not too old?"

"I say you're not, and I make the rules!" The look on Peter's face as he spoke was so confident and self-satisfied that Wendy almost admonished him for it, but that would only prove she was too grown up, and she wasn't willing to admit that to herself or to him. "Can you still fly, Wendy?"

"Oh," she said, "I don't know. I remember how to fly, but I don't know if I can still do it."

"All you need to do is remember. Think the happiest thought you have, and you'll be right up in the air again!" Peter was making circles above her as he said this. He had his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles almost as if he was lying on a bench.

Wendy was overtaken with emotion. She could go back to Neverland, if she wanted to. That was the trouble, of course, was whether or not it was what she really wanted. Could she run away again? Her hesitation seemed to annoy Peter; he was standing in front of her again, sulking. It occurred to Wendy that she might not want to go back for that very reason. Would dealing with Peter's childlike attitudes be horrible now that she was almost all grown up?

"Come on, Wendy! You can come back, and we'll have adventures in the Jungle, and fight pirates, and tease the Mermaids, and—"

"Pirates?" Wendy leaned against a post on her old bed. "Are there still pirates?"

Peter grinned broadly and nodded his head. "Sure, loads of them! Hook didn't take long getting a—"

"_Hook?_"

"Grownups sure do interrupt a lot," huffed Peter, but he continued, "Hook is back. It seems he cut himself out of that croc before it could digest him. We found its body on the beach one day, and boy did it stink! You should have seen it, Wendy! There were flies and stuff everywhere!"

Wendy grimaced and held up her hand to stop him from describing it, not only because it was disgusting, but also because she was much more interested in Hook's return. She wished the news that he was alive would do something to ease her remorse, but she almost felt worse. He'd been alive all along probably believing that she helped murdered him, and who was to say she hadn't? Maybe it was silly of her to assume that Hook thought about her constantly, but he did have an obsessive personality. After all, he was out to get Peter, wasn't he? But that truth only begged the question of why he was so obsessed. Wendy wasn't willing to believe it was as simple as it seemed when she was twelve. She would like to ask Peter about it, but he wouldn't be very forthcoming, at least not with anything that wasn't extremely biased. She doubted asking Hook was an option, but maybe she could find out somehow. More than anything having to do with Hook, though, Wendy realized she just wanted to go, at least for a little while. If she found out more about her long-time interest, so be it, but at least she wouldn't have to deal with courtship. Not yet, anyway.

Peter was about to explode from the time she was taking to make up her mind. "Wennnndyyyyyy…"

"I'll go, Peter. I'll go back to Neverland with you."


	4. Captain Hook

A dim, purple sky hovered over Neverland as it lay in a seemingly perpetual winter. Ice covered the entire island, causing it to twinkle like a crystal tiara atop a blue pillow that stretched in all directions. The sea was frozen and dusted with snow that reflected the stars glittering above. The only crack in the smoothness of the image was a large ship, unmoving in the horizon, its wooden sides speckled with snow and dripping with icicles. Small, contained fires burned on deck to warm the crew still working tirelessly to protect the ship from frost. They worked mostly in silence, listening to the sounds of ice being scraped off the ropes and the crackle of their fires.

Within a cabin, though, a loud noise pierced the darkness as metal slammed into wood. "Damn it all, Smee, why can't that bloody little ingrate just stay put?!" The first noise was followed by several more clanging bangs as Captain James Hook of _The Jolly Roger_ drove his hook deeper and deeper into his desk. "Where does he even go? What business could he _possibly_ have anywhere else?" Infuriated, he tossed the hook across the warmly lit cabin where it smashed into an expensive looking bottle not two inches from Smee's head.

"Ohsweetmercy," breathed the boatswain as he tentatively patted his head. "Ah, Captain, ain't it, ah, good… that… he's… gone…?" Smee pulled his hat over his ears more before bending to clean up the shattered glass. "I mean, and all, you do so hate him, and—"

"And what, Smee? And so I ought to be happy when he disappears to wherever it is he goes—and really, where could the brat be going; what could he have to do,--GAH!" Hook breathed in slowly and spoke in a low voice that increased in volume as he went on, "Ought I to be _pleased_ that the horrid little thing can disappear on a _whim_ and completely _desolate_ the island ?!" He smashed his hook into the desk again, this time leaving it stuck, and collapsed into a padded red chair. "Oh, Smee." Hook's left hand covered his eyes and rubbed at them. "It isn't only the ice, you know."

"No, Cap'n?"

"Aye, Smee."

Smee waited for more, but it didn't come, so he finished sweeping up the bottle and dumped its remains into a waste bin. He stepped over to his Captain and began prying the hook out of its wooden prison. "Well, sir, even if it ain't only the ice, I reckon Pan'll be back soon," Smee grunted as he labored to pull the hook out. When he finally succeeded, he wiped it off with an embroidered cloth from the desk and laid it in front of Hook while saying, "Best have it ready, Cap'n, so's when the boy does show up, you'll be ready for 'im."

A heavy sigh left the Captain, but he pulled on his harness and screwed the hook into it. Smee was clever enough in a simple way, and Hook trusted him, but something stopped the Captain from sharing the whole of his anger. It wasn't enough for Pan to take away his hand; he took away his freedom, too. Anything Hook might have wanted to do besides hunt the boy was null because as soon as Pan was bored he could leave Neverland, which would be welcome if it didn't mean _The Jolly Roger_ was encased in ice. Sometimes Hook wondered if he ought to have let the crocodile eat him, but that would really have given Pan everything.

"Now, Cap'n, sir, what sort of suit do you think for today?" Smee asked, buttoning down the shirt of his Captain.

Hook waved his left hand lazily and sighed. His face was painted with a sadness that enhanced the already fine features, making him as near beautiful as a mortal man could be. "The purple one, Smee," he said; even in sadness he was more than a little vain.

Smee held first the vest and then the jacket out for Hook to slip his arms through the sleeves, and then the boatswain would do up the buttons and lace up the boots. It was not a wholly offensive routine for the Captain, who never minded being waited on, but knowing it was even a little out of necessity somewhat embittered him to the process. Even the small details of his life inevitably led to back to Pan. As he grumbled over this last realization, the distinct and familiar groan of ice cracking pulled the Captain out of his thoughts. The corners of his mouth turned into a terrible smile, a smile that forgot his deep melancholy and some of his loveliness. The brat was back!


	5. A Fair Chance

Wendy's heart was in her throat, and it wasn't from flying for the first time in many years. Neverland, covered in ice as it was, sparkled like the biggest, brightest star in the sky, and she was seeing it from miles above the world. The vastness of the pristine sea around its one pale jewel was so spectacular that she couldn't stop tears from slipping down her cheeks at the sight of it. The speed at which they flew whipped the tears away in all directions, some of them hitting Peter's face. He stopped, confused, and stared ahead at her for a moment before flying quickly to catch up and calling out.

"Why are you crying, Wendy? Are you hurt?"

"Oh, no, no, Peter," Wendy smiled, "I'm only crying because, well, quite honestly I've never seen something so beautiful in my whole life." She sensed Peter's confusion and continued, "I mean, Neverland… It's so lovely, isn't it?"

"You've been here before, though! Nothing's changed."

"I've changed, haven't I?"

"I guess so," Peter said, and his disappointment was so clear Wendy thought he might banish her, but "Grownups cry at the dumbest things!" was all he said before flying off toward the island.

Wendy didn't know how to reply, and she was sure it would be best not to say anything, anyway. The sun was starting to come out, and whatever was happening down on the island was sure to be more exciting (and hopefully less awkward) than what was happening to her in the sky. "Peter," she called, "Peter, wait up!"

By the time they landed on the island, the sun was baking down upon them, and the flowers were all in bloom. The only clouds in the sky were the puffy, sweet-looking kind that one might imagine into fantastic shapes. Everything Wendy saw reminded her of a specific thing about her first trip to Neverland. She remembered tiny wildflowers so bright they looked like diamonds. When she commented on it, the boys had made her a chain of them to wear as a necklace, and she loved it. Even Peter's confident stride reminded her of how safe she had always felt in his presence, though it also pushed thoughts of "he's only a boy" to the front of her mind. Ignoring those, she chose instead to remember the mermaid lagoon, and the caves, and the Indians, and all of the other beautiful things.

Peter led them through the forest, swishing his sword back and forth in front of them and relaying some of his recent adventures. Wendy realized that some of them actually involved her, but he didn't remember that, of course. It was troubling to think that he could so easily forget her in some parts of his life, but remember (eventually) to come collect her in the spring time. She supposed it had something to do with the importance of his needs above others', but he was only a child, and that was child like. She enjoyed hearing the stories, all the same.

Peter stopped walking abruptly, causing Wendy to crash into his back. They didn't fall, but she was embarrassed and appropriately apologetic. Peter seemed not to notice and only looked hard at her for a few minutes before saying, "You might not fit in your tree anymore, Wendy. We're gonna have to make you a new one so you can come inside."

Wendy nodded graciously.

"Men!" Peter shouted. "Men! Come out at once! I've brought the Wendy Lady back to be our mother, and you must all come out and greet her or there will be no supper or games!

Faster than anyone could imagine, seven boys popped out of nowhere and lined up in order of height, smallest to tallest, before Wendy. Even the largest boy was a head shorter than she was. Each of them smiled brightly, hands tucked together at their bellies, and said "Hello, Mother" in unison, then bowed.

"Hello, boys," Wendy said, and she tried her best to smile in a motherly fashion. The feeling that this was not going to be the fun she remembered was already growing in her stomach, but she suppressed it.

Peter was immediately between Wendy and the boys to bellow orders. "We must measure Mother for her new tree. Now, everyone, let's get to work!"

The work, as they called it, mainly consisted of staring at Wendy and guessing at which trees would be "fat enough" for her to use as an entrance. This was extremely embarrassing for the poor girl, but she was aware of their ignorance and thankful for their kindness, so she did her best not to let it show. The real problem she was facing—though she did her best not to—was that she was now going to be living with several young boys who wanted nothing to do with growing up. As much fun as it might have been to imagine motherhood when she was twelve, it didn't sound appealing in any way now that she was almost twenty. Doing the washing and mending and cooking and tucking children in was what she came to Neverland to avoid, wasn't it? On the other hand, it was only pretend, as Peter would point out, and she wasn't _really_ anyone's mother. The responsibility wasn't _really_ there. She ought to at least give it a fair chance, oughtn't she?

Before sunset, the boys had hollowed a tree just so that Wendy could slide in and out of it. Knowing they had worked all afternoon to make a sufficient entrance for her did enough to improve her spirits that she actually enjoyed preparing a meal for them, teaching them to wash up properly, and helping them all into bed, where they eagerly awaited a story. Wendy told the boys about Cinderella, knowing it was Peter's favorite, and he played his pipes in the appropriate places for added drama. When the story was finished and all the boys asleep, Wendy smiled lovingly on them and kissed each forehead. She gave Peter "medicine" at his insistence, and allowed herself to enjoy it. Slipping back into her earlier youth was intoxicating; she felt giddy and full of promise. She actually felt bad for doubting the job of surrogate mother, and just as she was starting to feel her happiest, Wendy sighed lightly and made to retire to her own bed. She combed her hair until it laid smooth down her back and tied it with a ribbon, pulled back the covers of her bed, and was just ready to slip into it when she realized it was filled with worms and insects, all of whom seemed surrounded by fairy dust. A faint ringing of bells that sounded like laughter brought a name to the front of Wendy's mind: Tinkerbell. As disgusting as cleaning up the mess was, Wendy still felt comfortable in her new cocoon of sentimentality. She was wrapped up in memories that she started to forget why she was different, now.

Several days passed similarly to the first, save that Wendy was there for more than afternoon and evening. Since the boys had no real mother, there was so much mending to do in their clothes that she hardly had a chance to get out of the underground home. The boys came home as filthy as they could make themselves because they enjoyed learning how to wash, which they forgot promptly the next day. Wendy thought it odd that they could look forward to something they forgot, but Neverland was like that. Peter took charge often and ordered everyone about, which Wendy realized early on that she hated, now. Still, it was pretend ordering, and what waited for her in England was real, and she could deal with Peter's mood swings.

One week into their new routine, the boys settled down for a bedtime story, but Wendy was exhausted. She tried to promise them a bigger, better story the next day if only she could rest this night, but the boys pretended to cry, and Peter said something about grownups making worse mothers than when they were children. "Well, now," she said, "Maybe Father can tell you a story." Peter's ears twitched at this suggestion, but he did not outright oppose it. "Don't you think, Peter, that the boys would _love_ to hear about how you maimed Captain Hook? I mean, that is, how you cut off the cutthroat's miserable hand?" She added the last part to sound less like she was interested for Hook's sake and more like she was fascinated by Peter's boldness. It worked.

Peter grinned and stood on his stool holding his sword. His eyes flashed in the mischievous way that delights children and frightens parents, and he spoke in a soft voice. "We were out walking, me and some other Lost Boys, and we heard the pirates singing in the lagoon. We crept up on them and saw that they were cutting down a tree to do a repair on the ship. Hook was there, and I saw him walking toward another tree and patting it," Peter was talking so fast it was a marvel anyone could understand him. "He leaned on the tree, like this" he said, and he mocked, in mid air, Hook leaning with his right hand on a tree. "So I went up behind him and cut off the hand! Then I threw it to a crocodile that was swimming nearby." Peter bowed and sank to his stool, proudly accepting the cheers of the lost boys.

Wendy was pale. "He wasn't threatening you?"

"Hook? No, he didn't even know who we were till that day. Isn't that funny?" Peter and the boys certainly thought so.

"And you must have felt the trees were important… that's why you cut him? He was cutting down important trees so you—"

"No, Wendy! Gosh, why does there have to be a reason? He was there, so I cut his hand off!" He said it as if it was the most obvious thing. "Now, come on, children, it's your bed time! Isn't it, Mother?"

"Yes… bed time. Sleep well." Wendy hastily kissed each child before practically running to her bed. The thought of Hook leaning innocently (if he could do anything innocently) against a tree before having his hand hacked off and thrown away was positively reeling. She couldn't have imagined it more brutal or unfair. Surely, Hook was a murderer, and more than likely he had killed before he ever heard of Neverland, but still! She could almost smell the blood that must have flowed freely from his wrist, hear the cries that must have hoarsely made it from his belly into the air. For the first time in her life, Wendy realized that it might have been silly for her to expect Hook's own nature to be the reason he lost his right hand. She knew, maybe better than anyone aside from the Captain himself, Peter Pan didn't need to be provoked. After a solid week of trying to give a fair chance to her new life, Wendy thought maybe she ought to be giving the fair chance to something or someone else. Years of wonder had not solidly brought her to the conclusion that Hook was, at least in part, innocent, but this night she realized for the first time that he did have at least one good reason to hate Peter. Wendy thought she just might hate him for it, too.


	6. The Final Straw

Wendy drifted into sleep filled with nightmares about her hands being chopped off. She was at a wooded beach, admiring the reflection of the trees on the water, when the cold _swish_ of steel sliced through the skin and muscle and bones of her wrists. She could see her hands on the ground, but had only pained, bleeding stumps with which to try and pick them up. As her dripping arms slipped over her hands and turf, she would cry out, and she must have been doing it out loud, because she awoke to the noise of her own tears every time.

One time that night, however, her cries were not because of the dreams. She cried out in earnest in the very darkest part of the night because there was a sudden, sharp pain in her left ear. She sat up immediately and touched her hand to the spot of pain. It was warm and slippery, and the stinging feeling of her fingertips against what she could only guess was an open wound made her gasp in horror. She was bleeding, badly. It wasn't a dream. Her eyes flicked up to the only thing that could distract her: a small glowing form glittering in its own light. Tinkerbell was flying in front of her face and having the good nature to look appalled, not by Wendy, but by what she certainly knew was her fault. What Wendy could guess from the state of Tinkerbell's face and the wound was no more than the fairy's involvement, but the small knife covered in fairy dust that lay next to where Wendy's head had been on her pillow, and the red spots of blood on the blade brought it all together for her. At the moment it all clicked, Wendy did the only natural thing for someone in her situation. She screamed.

"What?! I'm awake! What is it?" Peter yelled, and he was already standing to fight, eyes fierce. He looked confused by the absence of enemies, but soon realized Wendy was bleeding. "Wendy, did you fight without me?!"

"No, Peter! No, I did no such thing!" Keeping calm was out of the question for Wendy at this point, and she shuddered as she tried to explain what was going on. Her ear was hurting badly, and ignorant as she was of medical procedure, she knew the cut was bad.

"Oh, it's okay, Wendy," Peter said, smiling and sitting on her bed. "Tink says it was only an accident! She was just trying to cut your hair, you know, to make you uglier she said. She dropped the knife and it hit you! That's all!"

"That's _all_?!"

"Well, what do you want, Wendy?" he asked. "I mean, your hair didn't get cut."

Wendy used all her remaining strength (after stopping her tears) to ignore his idiocy and say what was important. "Peter, I'm bleeding. I need to see a doctor."

"I'll go wake up one of the boys."

"Not a _pretend_ doctor, Peter, a real doctor!"

"I don't know what you mean," Peter shrugged, and he went to wake up a Lost Boy, still laughing lightly about Tink's joke.

Filled with rage, Wendy only shook silently while tearing her pillowcase off of its pillow and pressing it to her left ear. Not only did she have no desire to stay in the house with Peter at the moment, but she knew she was desperately close to permanently depriving him of his best friend, who at least had the good sense to hide in her tiny apartment near Peter's chair. She was feeling ill from the pain, but she had to find someone to help her, and the closest thing she could think of to a doctor was one of the Indians. They had medicine and health practices, and she could only hope that they would remember her, and that she could remember how to find them. Peter was going to be no use, as he thought it all a funny prank, anyway. She slid uncomfortably up her tree and stumbled into the woods.

After walking aimlessly for nearly a half hour, Wendy knew she had no idea where the Indians lived. The sun was not completely out of the sky, but it was dark in the forest, and she wouldn't have seen well even if she wasn't in pain. Would calling for help be of any use? Would they come to her aid? She didn't have much time to think about this option because just as she stepped into a clearing, a dirty hand covered her mouth. She tried to jerk away from its grip, but she was too weak and began to swoon. It was as she tipped backward slightly that she realized there was no one directly behind her, and that the hand over her mouth came from someone hovering—or flying—behind her.

"Hold still," Peter whispered, and he sounded as serious as it was possible for him to sound. "Don't make any noise. There are pirates just on the other side of the trees." Wendy noticed that this serious tone was still filled with excitement. She tore at his hand until he moved it and turned slowly to face him. His eyes were shining and his mouth was turned up in a thrill-seeking grin. "You almost walked right into them, Wendy." He almost looked annoyed as he considered the possibility that she was sneaking out of their home to do battle with the pirates and not asking him along. That was beyond reproach, as far as he was concerned, but something distracted him from this feeling. It was the sound of pirates talking, and Wendy, too, turned her unharmed ear to listen through the trees.

Wendy didn't know if Peter could make sense of anything coming through to them, but she couldn't. Either it was too quiet a conversation or her pain was too great, but she only heard bits and pieces of their talk, though she could clearly hear that the words were spoken by pirates, and some of the voices, when she heard them, were vaguely familiar. She pressed the pillowcase harder against her wound and strained to hear more; Peter did the opposite and redirected his attention to her.

"They're not doing anything interesting," he whispered, "just picking berries." He seemed to be considering an attack anyway.

"You're not going to fight them, are you?"

"Why not?" Peter asked. "They're pirates."

Wendy, incensed both by his cavalier attitude (which only served to remind her of Hook's hand) and Tinkerbell's careless prank, nearly slapped his face. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it all over, and the left side of her head pounded in unison. An idea was creeping into her mind, whether a good one or a bad one she did not know, but she was certain it wouldn't work if Peter was with her. How was she to distract him from pirates, though? She appealed to the love of a devoted son he claimed to have for her. "Peter," she said through her teeth, "As your mother, I demand at this instant that you go home and go straight to bed. No fighting is allowed past bedtime." She didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a try.

Conflict arose in his face immediately, but the grin across his lips as he sheathed his sword told her she won. He flew silently away from her, not even thinking to ask why she was out and, more importantly, why she was not following him home. His lack of interest didn't bother her at the moment, though, because she was preoccupied with her quickly-formed plan. One of the voices she heard was the familiar tone of the pirate Smee. While none of the words were completely clear, the voice was, and it carried the only hope she had.

'Okay, Wendy,' she thought, 'just go out there and ask to be taken to the ship.' Pirates had doctors, didn't they? Would they help her, though? Would they kill her? Would they do worse? She had no reason to believe that running into the clearing full of pirates in the late evening would be safe, but in her current state, she was convinced it was the only option. What she didn't lack in certainty, though, she lacked in nerve, and it took her several minutes to stand up straight, dust off her nightdress, and step quietly through the trees, hoping she wouldn't startle anyone and be shot.


	7. Familiarity

The part of evening that flowed seamlessly into night was Smee's favorite time to go ashore. Rowing out, one could enjoy the reflection of the sunset on the water; once on the island, things were quiet, and they were less likely to run into trouble. Smee was no coward, but even pirates didn't want to worry about fighting when they were only trying to gather necessary items. Berries could be easily acquired from shops, but what could be gotten for free is more attractive to pirates than something one must pay for, and _The Jolly Roger_ only went to harbor for amenities they could not easily provide themselves.

As Smee collected the baskets they were taking back, he arranged them according to type in the boat and instructed a fellow crew member to follow suit. He was about to retrieve another basket when he heard the distinct sound of twigs snapping immediately followed by the appearance of a girl, not young like Pan and his gang, but not as old as the youngest pirate. She was nearly his height, thin, and had long hair that would have looked like honey if the sun was out. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she shakily held a bloody bunch of fabric to the left side of her face. She stared wildly around the small group of pirates (four in all) until she found him. What happened next surprised him completely.

Wendy scrambled forward toward the familiar pirate. "Mister Smee," she said, "please help me. Please can you take me to the ship? I think I'm bleeding quite badly." It came out more like a plea than she would have liked, but that is what it was. She shook with fear now that she stood in the presence of four dangerous men, all of whom eyed her curiously, and she was suddenly very aware of how inappropriately she was dressed.

"You know me," Smee said, and it wasn't a question. He eyed her suspiciously with his small eyes before suddenly clapping his hand to his cheek and nearly gasping her name. "Why if it ain't young Miss Wendy! Only less young, I should say!"

"Yes!" Wendy nodded so hard she nearly passed out, but the boatswain caught her by the arm. "Yes," she said. "I am sorry for troubling you, and I know this must seem strange—"

"What 'appened to you, Miss Wendy? Trouble with a native?"

"You might say that, Mister Smee," Wendy said, but she was feeling too overwhelmed with pain and fear, even after his recognition. "Please, if there is anything you can do…" she didn't finish, and Smee had to support her into the small boat.

"Well, I say," he said, "I reckon we'll have to take 'er to the Cap'n, I do. She's bleedin' mightily."

His companions only got in the boat and began rowing, eying the girl with equal parts of curiosity and suspicion. If Wendy could have seen their faces, she might have been afraid of what it was that made them curious, but she was quickly fading, and only the talk of Smee kept her awake. For his part, he had no idea what the Captain would say, but he was fairly certain that the best thing to do was take her to the ship and patch her up. That way, the Captain could do whatever he thought, whereas, if they left the girl alone, that would be that.

Smee's thoughts might have been simple, but they were correct; Hook was near shock with the news, but delighted. He had seen them approaching the ship with the usual assortment of vegetation from the shore, but it was the extra parcel that surprised him. There seemed to be an extra passenger and that extra passenger seemed to be a girl, and that girl seemed to be Wendy Darling. He was waiting on deck when they climbed aboard and personally helped hoist the girl over the railing then carried her into his cabin. He set her limp body down on the most comfortable chair while Smee arranged a bowl of alcohol and some clean cloth on a tray with a small silver box.

"What happened, Smee?" Hook asked as he put a blanket over the girl. She seemed to be in a state of shock.

"I dunno, Cap'n," Smee said. "She wouldn't let go of that cloth for me to check, and I figured it'd be better to wait, anyhow."

Hook reached for the wadded up pillow case in Wendy's hand, tenderly at first, but more forcefully after she tried to hold it tighter on her head. "Dammit, girl," he snapped, "I won't have you acting foolish while we try to help you. Either you let us tend your wound or I throw you overboard." He tugged her arm down with his hook and used his left hand to peel the fabric off of her face and neck where it was stuck with blood. Once it was moved away, the problem of her wound was obvious. On her left ear and below it, there was a deep gash trailing dangerously across her throat, but getting shallower as it did. "What an odd wound," Hook said, and Smee agreed. Wendy was silently crying as air rushed into her open cut. "There, there, my beauty," Hook said, "It's not so bad. I daresay this will hurt much more, though it is necessary." He dipped a cloth into the bowl of alcohol and began patting around the cut then on it.

If Wendy was swooning before, she was wide awake the moment the alcohol hit the laceration. She cried out and tried to push the offending cloth away, but Hook was strong, and Smee was helping him. "Please," she cried, "it hurts too much! Please stop!"

"Now, now" Smee soothed, "you asked for 'elp and 'ere it is, Miss. The wound 'as to be cleaned." He patted her cheek. "It gets worse before it gets better, but it will get better."

She found that Hook was surprisingly gentle in his task, though his tenderness was more than she knew by his suggestion to Smee that he fetch a glass of rum for her. She made a face and began to say that she would not like any, thank you, but he smiled and shook his head. "Tut, tut, my dear, I think it is best to do as we suggest, in this instance, else you will provide yourself with more pain than necessary." Smee returned with the rum, and Wendy managed a sip, which she immediately regretted. The taste wasn't bad as much as it was confusing for her, but she did not want it. Hook looked away impatiently, but signaled to Smee to start another task.

"Miss, you ah, might want to be rethinkin' the rum in a moment, I reckon," he said as he fumbled with the silver box on the tray. It contained bright, clean needles in varying sizes and a spool of strong thread.

If she was a little less disoriented from pain, Wendy might have realized what they were for and screamed. She was dazed, though, and only looked lazily at the pirate's fingers as he threaded the needle. What was he going to sew? The question hurt her head, so she turned her attention elsewhere to Hook, who was patiently holding a piece of cloth against her wound and watching Smee. His hook was against her right arm, now, holding it down. She wondered at this, but not much. She saw that he had not aged or changed in any way. His hair was dark and long, some slipping over his shoulders as he leaned and some rolling down his finely clothed back. The neatness of him did not seem out of place as it did when she was a child.

She might have continued thinking idly about him if red waves of pain hadn't suddenly overcome her. Without her notice, Hook's hand had moved to her left arm and held it tightly; he had also leaned most of his weight into his arms to keep her in the chair while Smee came in with his shining needle and pierced Wendy's very tender skin. She screamed and tried to twist away from the needle, but Hook was too fast and strong. In an instant, he was up and had his bent leg over her lap to hold her straight in the chair; his left arm curled around her neck to hold her head still, and his hooked arm and torso kept her arms locked. She was effectively immobilized, and Smee finished his first stitch.

In agony, Wendy cried out, "Please stop!"

"Wendy, my dear," Hook began, "you have been bleeding quite a lot for what seems to have been a fair time. The wound will not stop bleeding if it is not closed, and I'm afraid this is the only way to close it until it can properly heal." He stared down at her eyes, so full of tears they were overflowing, and though he felt irritated with the difficulty of helping her, he was moved to pity. He spoke as softly as he knew how when he asked, "If I promise I know a way to ease your pain, will you accept it?"

Wendy nodded as much as she could with his hand steadfastly clamped to her hair. Hook nodded at something as an indication to Smee, who then held the glass of rum in front of her. She frowned, but took the glass with her right hand when Hook released her arms. Now having felt the pain of a needle piercing her skin, she found very little trouble in gulping down her first glass of rum. She looked at Hook over her empty glass. "Will I need more?"

Smee stifled a laugh, and Hook's eyebrows rose as he smiled. "Oh, I think that will be quite enough for one of your size, presuming, of course, that you do not already have a strong habit." He was right, of course, and she was already feeling the effects as he again pinned her arms and fastened his hand around her forehead to hold her steady. Smee tentatively began his work. She felt the stitches as they happened, but it was dulled, and she only cried a little more. Mostly, she looked up into the only thing she could see clearly as slight drunkenness and pain overtook her. There, above her, were two eyes that could not be forgotten. He was not looking back, but she was glad of it; something inside her knew that if he did, she would be unable to stop from saying "I'm sorry" a thousand times. She longed for it; she wanted to tell him that she didn't mean it, whatever it was she said so long ago. She needed him to know how she understood.

Wendy's eyes blinked furiously as tears continued to be born and die on her cheeks, but she never looked away from his eyes. She searched them over and over to find something she couldn't name, not noticing that they were gone from her sight as Smee finished the procedure and did his best to wrap soft strips of cloth around her neck and chin. When they carried her to a large sofa and laid her on it, when they pushed large pillows behind her back to keep her from rolling over and disturbing her wound, when they covered her in blankets, she still saw his eyes. As she lay half awake, completely dazed, she realized she would never find what she was looking for without his help. Her world had tumbled into a new pattern, one she couldn't read. Peter left her to suffer, and Hook took her in. She made no mistake that the pirate might have ulterior motives, but he was kind enough to help her when she asked. Why? This new lack of familiarity, the absence of her childhood belief that he was completely evil, was terrifying, and she was more afraid of him than ever.


	8. Riddles

Smee set himself to the task of cleaning up the tray of supplies once he was sure Wendy was soundly asleep and couldn't easily be disturbed. He hummed softly as he cleaned and gathered the needles and thread back into the silver box, double checking its contents before stowing it on a shelf near the Captain's desk. The bloody cloth and pillowcase were put with other dirty things, and he saw that the bowl of alcohol was poured out and cleaned. The Captain watched intently, idly tracing his hook and only lifting his gaze to occasionally glare at the girl sleeping on his sofa. Smee saw this as he brought a tea tray and asked, "Are you going to kill 'er, sir?"

"I don't think so, Smee," Hook said before asking, "Did she say anything about why she is here? Or, perhaps, did she mention how she came to be in such a state?"

"No, Cap'n," Smee shrugged. "All's she said was that she was needin' some help, and seein' as I knew who she was and all, I brought 'er 'ere, thinkin' as you might have a preference of what to do with 'er." He handed the Captain a prepared cup of tea and took a seat on the right side of the desk that was generally regarded as his own. "'Sides," he continued, "maybe my old heart is gettin' soft, but I hated seein' 'er in such a fit." To Hook's amusement, the boatswain actually looked embarrassed by his revelation.

"Come now, Smee," he said. "There is nothing shameful about helping a young lady in distress." 'Even if she did chant for your death,' he thought, but did not share with his companion. "Certainly, we are pirates, but we are not barbarians. It would be acting with poor form if we had not properly attended to her wounds not only because it was humane, but also because we now have the excellent choice before us of what to do with her." Hook inspected his fingernails, took a sip of tea, and continued, "I applaud you, sir, for your quick action."

The boatswain nearly glowed with pride, but he managed a gracious thank you to his Captain. The two sat in silence as they drank their tea, listening to the waves lazily tumbling against the ship. They both watched Wendy sleep for some time, each noticing the worried creases etched into her forehead as she would occasionally make quiet sounds of distress and seem to be clawing at something. Her cries would grow distant, then sharp, and then disappear for a time before one strangled yelp would wake her up for a few seconds. She would almost immediately return to sleep, but it all started over soon enough.

"Damn it all, Smee, I'll never sleep tonight with this racket," Hook said, breaking their silent voyeurism; he paused, took a sip of tea, then muttered, "We ought to have given her more rum."

"You'd be more'n welcome to me own cabin for the night, Cap'n, if it pleases you, sir."

Hook smiled and raised his teacup to Smee. "You are too kind, good Smee, but I will remain here. 'Tis my own cabin and I will not be frightened out of it by a mere girl."

"Surely not, Cap'n."

"Anyhow, I do not think it wise to leave her unattended."

"No, sir? Mightn't she think it…ah… _untoward _of you to sleep in the same room with her, Cap'n, and raise a fit?"

"No," Hook said, glaring at Wendy again over the rim of his cup, "it seems strange that she has arrived, even setting aside her present condition, and I would hear the tale that will explain it all before making any effort to accommodate her with privacy." He turned his eyes to Smee and said, "If she _does_ throw a fit, I will personally escort her overboard."

Smee shrugged, but a thought was nagging at him. "Are you thinkin' it's a trap, sir?" Smee set his cup down and gripped the arms of his chair as he leaned forward.

Hook waited some time before answering, but finally said, "No. Pan is too thick to plan a scheme such as this." It was true; Pan was stupid, and he almost never planned attacks in advance. Since nearly everything he did was based on pretend, it was all made up as it happened. The real riddle was not to do with Pan specifically, but rather why young Miss Darling chose to seek out pirates for aid and why she needed it in the first place. Smee did not seem occupied by these questions, and Hook did not see any reason to trouble his companion. He easily resisted the urge to plan a trap of his own because, knowing Pan as he did, Hook was aware that once the forever-child realized where Wendy was, he would more than likely come looking for her on his own.

Of course, none of it was really worth considering when he didn't know where it was that the girl fit in. Curiosity was itching beneath his skull. What was she doing back in Neverland? He could easily see that she was much more than a child, though still quite young, maybe young enough to fall for Pan's malarkey again. He hated to think such a thing of her; she'd always seemed so clever. 'Even the clever ones run away,' he thought. What was she running from this time?

"It seems 'er nightmares are subsidin', Cap'n," whispered Smee. He had gingerly moved to the girl's side to tuck another blanket over her prone form. "I got 'er tucked in tight enough that she oughtn't to be botherin' you, sir."

Hook joined him and leaned over the sleeping girl to stare at her face. A crystal tear resting in the safety of her eyelashes was just starting to slip through and fall down her cheek. Whatever brought her to them was more than a wound to the flesh; her pain ran deeper. He watched further tears escape through her closed eyes as Smee helped him out of his many tailored layers. When the day clothes were replaced with night clothes and the iron hook and harness forsaken for the comfort of soft cotton sheets, the boatswain was dismissed and there was only James Hook left to witness Wendy Darling's troubled dreams. Hook was acquainted with pain beyond measure, and he knew what it meant to find it inescapable even in sleep. He was surprised to find himself thinking that he would not have wished it on her.


	9. Coming Clean

**Disclaimer:** I can _still _claim no ownership to any rights associated with Peter Pan.

**Note:** Thanks a million times over to Your Worshipfulness for her constant support and kindness, and especially to my dear friend Anna, who has opened herself to both fanfiction and the idea of a Hook/Wendy relationship all for the sake of helping me out. You are both the best sort of people a girl could ask for.

* * *

Wendy awoke to find herself snugly wrapped in several blankets and tucked safely between the soft back of a sofa and a variety of plush pillows. Her head throbbed all over, but especially on the left side. Her fingers curled around the embroidered hem of the top blanket and pulled it over her head as she grew aggravated with the sunlight streaming in through a small window above her. It didn't take long for her to recall the previous night, and she was in no hurry to deal with the mess in which she had landed. Her wound was stitched and bandaged, but was her life in any less danger than it had been when she was bleeding out? 'Certainly not,' she thought, 'I'm on a ship filled with murdering pirates.' The dull ache in her throat reminded her that she had spent a good part of the night sobbing in and out of sleep, but at least her eyes were now dry of tears. She wondered what time it was, but was too afraid to peek outside the blankets, and she knew better than to expect a clock anywhere on _this_ ship. Or had cutting himself out of the belly of his stalker cured Hook of that fear?

Before Wendy could wonder longer about time, the cold reality of her situation jumped to the forefront of her mind as, in one sweeping motion, the blankets were ripped from her grip and thrown to the floor. A gleaming hook was the culprit, and it shone unapologetically in the light streaming in through the window. "Rise and shine, shall we?" said a smooth voice.

Wendy would have gasped if she could find her breath, but her chest felt frozen and her eyes were squinting uncontrollably in the sudden brightness. It all passed quickly when she realized how exposed she was and grabbed the nearest pillow to cover her legs and glared at the captain. "How _dare_ you?" she said, suddenly finding her voice through the anger welling up inside her. Hook only rolled his eyes and tossed the blankets aside; he was holding something in his left hand, but Wendy couldn't see what it was. He smiled down at her while Smee, appearing out of nowhere, leaned in to check her wound. As much as she was angry, she could recognize the importance of his exam, and let it go on, though she detested the smug look on the captain's face as he watched her watching him. His hair was clean and looked as soft as the green velvet jacket he wore; she was suddenly aware of how greasy her own hair felt as it clung to her forehead and neck. That he somehow managed to look neat and fresh at a moment when she felt sick, dirty, and tired made her even angrier.

"Now, now, Miss Darling," Hook said. "There is no need for such a displeased expression on your lovely young face. Have we not taken good care of you?"

"And I appreciate it, Captain, but do not think that your kindness will blind me to any of your more base motivations," Wendy said, tugging the pillows closer around her legs.

Hook laughed and smiled wickedly as he said, "Really, my dear, have you become so simple in your thoughts that you believe me to be that uncouth?" He looked at Smee, who chuckled, then returned his gaze to Wendy. "I've even brought you a better cover up than my pillows." He threw what he'd been holding in his left hand to lay in front of her. "I'm afraid we aren't accustomed to having ladies on board, so you'll have to make do with some of my own leggings and shirts until other arrangements can be made. Smee has been kind enough to hastily alter them according to your smaller frame as he could guess at it. Do thank him."

"Thank you, Mister Smee," she said, refusing to look away from the captain. Smee nodded politely, but Wendy didn't notice; she glared fiercely at Hook.

"Dear girl, whatever is the matter? Have we not done all you asked and more?"

"I certainly did not ask to be rudely awakened or exposed in front of you and another man! I did not ask to be spoken to as if I were a child, and I—"

"You stupid girl!" Hook yelled. His hooked arm flew down to the biggest pillow in front of Wendy's legs and tore through it effortlessly, effectively destroying her cover and leaving her bare from the knee down. His voice was harsh but his face remained calm. "You will dispense with this attitude immediately or I _will_ throw you overboard, and I daresay you would much prefer my awakenings to what you would receive from the mermaids." Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but Hook raised his hand and continued, "As for my _base _motivations, you may let them fly from your thoughts. I have no motivation other than discovering what is your purpose here and why you have decided to become my nuisance instead of your father's." Hook paused and inspected the fingernails on his left hand closely, then turned his eyes back to Wendy. "While you are on my ship—where you asked, nay, _begged_, to be taken, I might point out—you will obey _my_ rules, and you will speak politely with all the courtesy I'm sure you learned in your fine English schools, or you will be spoken to as the child you were when last I saw you, since I have yet to see evidence that you have become otherwise."

Before Wendy could reply, Hook smiled politely, turned, and walked away with Smee in tow. She didn't know what to say, anyway. He was right; she had not come to any harm, and he had, in fact, gone to great lengths to make her comfortable. She was doing quite well as a prisoner, if that's what she was, and she _had_ asked to be brought to the ship. It seemed like ages ago that she stumbled through the trees to beg Smee for help, but the ache in her head reminded her how little time had passed. She let her face relax from the glare she was still wearing and leaned into the back of the sofa. Wendy detested being spoken to like a child, but Hook was right. She was being ungrateful and incredibly rude when all that was really warranted was politeness and a healthy dose of fear and respect. He was a murdering pirate, but he'd taken good care of her. Moreover, if he wanted to kill her, she'd probably be dead already. She looked at the clothing he'd brought her and smiled a little. At least she'd be able to change out of her nightgown. She'd been wearing it for days, and it was becoming noticeable.

Though not without some pain, Wendy was able to wash quite well in a small tub left for her and change into the fresh set of clothing. She tossed her nightgown into what appeared to be a basket of laundry and found a silver comb for her hair. She combed slowly to avoid as much pain as possible but had to take frequent breaks before she could finish. While she rested, she looked around the cabin and took in its richness. Peter's underground home was all leaves flowers and make believe, but Hook's cabin was all glossy dark woods and smooth, bright fabrics with intricate detail. There were unnumbered books and strange devices, and everything had a purpose. It was as big a change from her pretend home with Peter or her real home in England as she could have hoped for, but she wasn't sure she really hoped for it. Adventure or not, it was the chance of her lifetime. She'd wanted for so long to understand her hesitance to believe in a world of complete good and complete evil and their constant struggle against one another since she witnessed Hook's apparent demise. During her first trip to Neverland, Wendy had been too young to really understand her feelings about what happened, but if she was going to be honest with herself now, she'd have to admit that there was a flaw in her old storybook beliefs. Peter was not _all_ good, and Hook was not _all_ evil. Who was more of what was going to be an adventure to sort out, at least.

When she finally finished combing through her hair, Wendy looked in the large mirror in front of her. Outlined in the background of a stunning cabin, she looked small and afraid, even in the captain's magnificent altered white shirt and blue leggings. Her hair, still damp, hung loose around her to the small of her back, and her eyes looked as glassy and turbulent as the sea outside. She sighed a little and smiled, then raised her hand to tentatively stroke the bandage around her neck. 'He would have killed me already,' she thought. 'He would have had it over and done with by now.' She thought it over and over as she stared into the mirror, into herself. All the time she was staring at what seemed to her like the form of a frightened young girl, she never realized how very like a grown up young lady she was beginning to look.


	10. A Matter of Time

From the sun's station in the sky, Wendy surmised she had slept at least half of the day away. Once she'd bathed and dressed, Hook sent a small lunch of bread, cheese, and fruit to the cabin for her to eat, but she was denied permission to leave his quarters. Despite being surrounded by a myriad of interesting objects, books, and more books, Wendy was desperately bored and lonely. The solitude was welcome at first, especially to a girl who spent the last week surrounded by loud, excitable children, but the novelty of peace and quiet quickly ran its course and left her longing for something, _anything,_ to happen. She nestled herself in the bay window behind the captain's desk and watched the sea. Her thoughts were varied, but mostly centered on what might happen to her. She was reasonably secure with her safety; the question went beyond that. What would become of her life? Could she go back to England? Did she want to? Would she prefer a life of piracy? As compelling as the idea had once been, it now left Wendy feeling tired and vulnerable. She missed her family, and as annoyed as she was to realize it, she missed Peter. It wasn't the games or the surrogate children; it was the idea of him, the idea that she could be young forever by association with him.

Hours passed with Wendy drifting in and out of sleep in the window. She watched the water change from its early afternoon shade of perfect blue to evening shades of red and gold. An unwelcome throb found its way into her head, and she placed a hand over her bandages delicately. How long was it going to hurt that badly? As she smoothly traced the cotton on her throat, it occurred to her that she didn't even know what the gash looked like. She shuddered a little and tried to forget what she imagined a cut that bled as much as hers did would look like.

The sun set completely before Hook returned to his cabin. He opened the door without knocking and stepped in quietly enough that Wendy didn't notice him from her window seat. He watched her for a moment, curled up with her knees to her chest, her right cheek pressed against the window. Her hair hung loosely down her back in varied waves and shades of gold. He smiled. "It is good to see that you have cleaned yourself, my dear."

Wendy jumped a little at the sudden voice, but she was less surprised than she would have expected. She turned to face Hook and tried to keep her face neutral. "Thank you for providing me with the means, Captain," she said, standing up. "And thank you for the clothes."

"It was my pleasure. Did your day pass well?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," Wendy said; she wanted to complain about being idle and lonely, but was afraid to provoke him or seem once more ungrateful. "Your cabin is lovely."

Hook shrugged and smiled, and Wendy thought he looked as charming as he ever had. "'Tis a fine place, I think. I am glad you agree, as it will be your home until I discover your purpose and decide what to do about it."

Trying to avoid giving away her contempt for sharing his quarters, Wendy smiled graciously. At least there was decent food on the ship, and she could bathe. Her private thought of food was punctuated with a very public sound of hunger from her stomach. She gasped and put a hand over her belly. "Excuse me!" she whispered.

"Perhaps it is time to eat. Will you join me?"

Did she have a choice? The fact was, even if she did, Wendy was fairly certain she would have said yes anyway. She accepted his offer with a simple "Yes, Captain, please," and waited patiently at her window while he exited the cabin for a half hour or more. When he returned, it was with several pirates, all of whom carried essential items for the broad mahogany table at which she had dined once before on her first trip to Neverland. A plate of cheeses was set next to a bowl filled with fruits that was next to a roasted chicken that was next to a basket of hot rolls, and more food was brought in to fill the table. Wendy thought there must be other guests for dinner if so much food was necessary, but only two places were set, each with shining silver charger plates below black dinner plates with silver rims.

What had seemed like a lot of food when it was being brought in turned out to be the right amount for the two of them. Wendy was ravenously hungry, and Hook ate well. They dined in silence for a long time, Wendy too busy concentrating on eating politely and Hook more interested in watching than talking. When Wendy reached for another piece of bread from the basket, she met eyes with the Captain, and they both sat still and quiet for several more minutes before he broke the silence.

"Take it, my dear."

Wendy's small hand closed around the roll and she slowly pulled it to her plate. She nodded politely and said, "This is an excellent meal, Captain. Thank you."

"I am glad you are enjoying it," he replied. His face was unreadable but passive.

"I'm more than enjoying it," Wendy said, smiling. She chewed a bite of bread, politely wiped her mouth with an embroidered napkin from her lap, and continued, "It's the best food I've tasted in—well, I don't know—ages."

"You, of course, mean since you returned to Neverland."

"No, I—"

"Silly girl, I am not implying that you are paying me poor compliment by comparing this food to whatever you have scrounged for however long you were with Pan," Hook said, and at last the predatory look she was so familiar with returned to his eyes. "While I both accept and appreciate your compliment and courtesy, you cannot deny me my suspicion at your appearance." Hook picked up the napkin from his lap and used it to polish his hook, all the time staring at Wendy. He watched her, frozen with a look of curious panic, and smiled. Her eyes were rounded and perplexed, and her nose twitched gently as she breathed through barely parted lips. He guessed that at least five or six years had passed since they last sat across from one another at the same table. He had no way of knowing exactly, because years didn't pass in Neverland; time was only time. He wasn't even sure how old he was. Without understanding why, Hook began to feel his resentment for the girl return. It coiled up inside him like a defensive snake, daring her to speak the words she spoke before his supposed death. As fast as his rage was rising, it fell when he saw a flicker of motion in her eyes. "I am not going to kill you, Wendy."

"I thought not."

"Then why are you so frightened?"

"Who said I was frightened?"

"You are trembling, dear girl."

"Perhaps your company is _that_ inspiring."

"Perhaps," Hook said, using a dangerous tone, "your sarcasm is not." Hook smiled at Wendy's unmistakable gulp, and softened his voice to say, "But your wit is, at least, encouraging."

"What do you want with me, Captain?" Wendy shouted suddenly. She was standing, arms thrown up as she yelled. Her face was suddenly flush, and she shook all over. "If you aren't going to kill me, what could you possibly desire?"

Hook raised an eyebrow at her question, but he didn't voice a reply until she seemed to have calmed down. He looked almost embarrassed by her behavior, but he recovered. "Setting aside, for a moment, the utter silliness of you making any inquiries as to _my_ intentions when it is you who brought yourself here," he said, "I will at least answer your question before you answer mine, and you _will_ answer them. Now, if you are finished eating, let us move to a more comfortable setting." Hook got up from his chair and walked to the more comfortable arrangement of armchairs in the corner of the cabin and stared hard at Wendy until she did the same. He poured them each a snifter of brandy before sitting across from her and raising his eyebrows. "Do you have any more outbursts planned, or may I count on you to behave properly?" A glare from his companion was as good as Hook expected, so he continued, "As to my intentions for you, I have none, at the moment. I will not say that nothing will ever occur to me, but how could I be expected to have made plans when you only arrived yesterday, and I had no prior knowledge of it? I did not even know you had returned to Neverland until you appeared on my deck." This seemed to satisfy Wendy, who was tentatively sniffing her brandy. "May I ask you, my beauty, how it is you came to return?"

Wendy considered the question for a moment before sighing, taking a sip of brandy, and looking up at Hook. "I returned home from school just over a week ago. I was done, you see, and it was summer. Almost as soon as I returned, my father, mother and aunt told me it was time to begin thinking about courtship offers and marriage. I was feeling down about it that night; I realized that was what I'd always been afraid of, growing up. I suppose I don't really have to tell you," Wendy said, smiling sadly.

"Go on," Hook said.

"That same night, I went to the nursery—that's where we slept, my brothers and I, when we were children—and I fell asleep at the very window through which Peter first heard my stories. I woke up to find him back," Wendy laughed a little and looked at the ceiling of the cabin. "After all those years, he finally came back to me. He thought it was spring…" A tear slipped from the inside corner of her left eye, but she didn't try to stop it. "Anyway, you want to know how I got back, well, there you are. Peter came to me, and I agreed to come back with him. I was older, and he didn't like it, but he accepted me and I met the new boys and mended their clothes like always. I told stories and did all the things I loved doing the first time, but something was different. For one thing, I think Peter has grown almost intolerably arrogant." Hook snorted, and Wendy smiled at him. Of course Hook would have found him to be intolerable for much longer than she had. "Maybe I'm the one who changed."

Hook smiled and raised his glass to her before taking a drink and saying, "Without a doubt." He stared at her for a moment, considering her answer and his next question. "How did you come to be injured? Pan is a fool, but he is proficient with a sword and would have killed you if he meant to."

"It wasn't Peter," Wendy said urgently. She realized how it sounded almost as soon as she spoke; she was defending him. Her face flushed pink, and she sipped at her brandy for a few moments before continuing. "It was Tinkerbell. She told Peter she was playing a prank on me. She meant to cut my hair while I was a sleep, only she dropped the knife while she was flying above me." Wendy was glaring fiercely into the snifter and gripping it so hard that Hook wondered if she'd break the stem.

"A dreadful little creature," he said. "What did Pan do?"

"My scream woke him up, but he laughed when He found out from Tinkerbell what she'd done. It was a game to him, Captain," Wendy said, and she looked sad and helpless again. She looked exactly as she had when he told her all those years ago that Pan couldn't feel. "He laughed," she whispered, and a second tear slipped down her cheek.

Hook placed his glass on the table and got to his knees in front of Wendy. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tear away exactly as he had done the last time he saw her heart breaking on account of Pan, only this time it wasn't because he wanted to manipulate her. The feeling was alien and unexplainable to him; he had no idea why his instinct was to make her feel better rather than worse, or why he wanted to discourage fear. "He laughed," Hook repeated finally, in a whisper. "He laughed, and you ran away."

"I had to," Wendy cried. "I thought… I thought the Indians might help me, only I couldn't find them." She sniffed and accepted the handkerchief from Hook, but he remained at her side, still eye level even on his knees. "I couldn't find them, but Peter found me. He came after me, and when he found me we heard the pirates, and he was going to fight them, but I told him he had to go back home and go to bed because it was past bedtime, and I was his mother, wasn't I? He had to listen to me, and he did; he listened because he loves the game so much." Wendy's eyes shifted from Hook's to her lap, then back up. "It's the game he loves; I know that now," she said. Hook didn't move, but she knew he wanted her to continue. "I recognized Mister Smee's voice and thought he might remember me, or at least take me to the ship. I guess it never occurred to me what would happen if I was wrong, but it doesn't matter now, does it?" She tried to smile as she wiped her eyes again. "I'm here now, and I was right. You helped me, and I cannot thank you enough."

"Indeed," Hook said, but he still looked perplexed. He was most confused by himself, but Wendy's attitude toward Pan was of extreme interest to him. She seemed torn between her childhood love and loyalty and what was becoming apparent to her as an adult. She knew Peter was a child and would be forever, but part of her still longed for his affection and respect, two things he would never understand outside of pretend. He thought about questioning her further, but nothing he might have asked was urgent, and he was tired. He stood up, never taking his eyes off of her, and offered a hand to help her out of her chair. She accepted it, but cautiously, and he knew it was because she didn't really trust him yet. She was a smart girl, always had been. "I'll send Smee in to clean and redress your wound," he said.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Get some rest; we will talk more tomorrow." Hook gave her a short nod and walked away from her.

Wendy knew it was an order, not a suggestion or request. Smee came in almost as soon as the Captain had left. The older pirate was gentle in tending to her wound. When he was finished, he measured her in order to make more precise alterations on some of the captain's donated clothing for her. She thanked him graciously, though she had to disguise a yawn. Even though she'd slept a fair part of the day, her most recent encounter with Hook left her drained and she was ecstatic to find the sofa bed ready for her.

Hook leaned with his elbows on the railing of the poop deck. The sea was turbulent and smacking violently against the sides of the ship. Stars were veiled behind misty purplish clouds, a sure sign that Pan was finding something troublesome. No doubt, he was realizing that something was wrong where Wendy was concerned. How long would it be before he came looking for her? He wondered what he would do when it happened and whether or not he ought to hand the girl over without trouble. He expected it was not what she would prefer, but he wouldn't know without further questioning, which, as he was disappointed in himself to realize, he had not the heart to finish all in one evening. Hook watched the violent swirls of green tinted water splash and twist itself into waves, only looking away when he heard Smee's footsteps approaching from behind.

"Is it a storm, cap'n?" the boatswain asked. His little round spectacles were askew, and his white beard shone brightly in sharp contrast to his dark eyes. The last vestiges of a sunset that occurred hours before seemed to live in the rosiness of his cheeks. Hook smiled at his companion and shook his head, then stared back into the water. "D'ya think it's Pan?"

"Of that I have no doubt, Smee," Hook said. The ocean was fantastically colored and changing under the grey sky, first blue, and then green, then darker blue and the waves were crowned with foam that sprayed salty and fresh against the dark wood of _The Jolly Roger_. "No," Hook said, "not a storm, yet, but it is only a matter of time." It would all become clear in a while—the girl his own strange curiosity—Hook knew he was right. He knew because everything in Neverland was a matter of time, always, never, and forever.


	11. A Duo Begins

The first days following Wendy Darling's arrival on _The Jolly Roger_ passed quickly. She spent most of her time alone in Hook's Cabin, but there were times that he allowed her on deck for fresh air, though never without an escort. Despite his lengthy interrogations after dinner, he never seemed satisfied with her explanation of events. Every night went the same: Hook would share dinner with her and Smee would sometimes join them; after, the captain would ask her questions about everything from her life immediately following her return from the first trip to Neverland to school to what drove her to the pirates. She guessed he must have heard the story at least a dozen times, but something was still troubling him, though what it was she could not say. In return for his frequent questions, he permitted her to ask one question of him every night, which meant she could spend the day thinking about what to ask so as not to waste the opportunity. He said he always answered truthfully, and she believed him. Through the course of a week, Wendy learned more about Neverland than she could ever have guessed. She would have liked to ask him questions about himself, but was too shy to go much further than to discover his education (he was an Eton man) and literary interests.

By her third day on board, she had acquired three separate outfits that fit her properly and were much more suitable for being on a pirate ship than her nightgown, which was beyond repair because of the blood stains. She learned that it wasn't Smee who did most of the mending, but a pirate she'd never met called Leonard Gris. He joined the crew sometime after she'd first met most of them and was better with needle and thread than most women Wendy had met. She still lacked shoes, but Leonard made her small slippers out of scraps of leather and satin from the clothes the captain had donated. Smee's duties were mostly on deck, despite what she'd thought initially since he seemed to do whatever Hook told him, but they all did that, of course. He oversaw the crew when neither Hook nor Starkey was available, but mostly he took care of the ropes and saw that the dinghies were well looked after. When Hook permitted her on deck, Smee showed Wendy how to properly wind ropes and explained why they had to be kept a certain way; he also explained what he could about other various tasks necessary to life at sea.

She noticed that Hook spent most of his days within an enclosed office on deck, often pouring over maps or making notations in a log, but never unaware of what was happening with the crew. He also watched the sea from time to time, and Wendy thought it was during those moments that he unknowingly endeared himself to her. He would lean over the railing and stare into the open ocean, miles of it spread before him like a path into the sky no matter which direction he went, and she knew the look in his eyes was the same he would have if he stared at a lover. It was full of admiration and desire, and when he would close his eyes and inhale deeply through his nose, she knew he felt as close to complacency as he would ever allow, but it never lasted for long. Even though they were almost always anchored, he seemed to have endless duties that got him out of the cabin before she woke up and kept him away until much later than sunset. Often, he went back on deck after sharing a meal with her, but she thought this might be his way of giving her some privacy without seeming to accommodate her too much.

The other pirates, in general, were decent in their dealings with Wendy, which were not frequent. If they disliked her, they didn't show it; most of them were pleasant as pirates could be while still being true to themselves. As long as she stayed out of the way and earned her keep, they were content with her presence. Wendy had spurned the notion of earning her keep at first because she assumed it would involve some kind of nefarious deed that was beneath her, but it turned out to be jobs she actually enjoyed. The first job she was given was to help Smee maintain the ropes after the lesson she'd been given; she took to it quickly, and found herself understanding the importance of the right knot in the right place and how even a little dirt could ruin the whole process. She also swabbed the deck, when necessary, but she didn't mind the harder work because it gave her time to think. The most surprising job she'd been given was to produce copies of some of the captain's logs. After he discovered her pristine penmanship, he put her to work almost immediately, and while she enjoyed the work, Wendy found it more difficult than anything involving hard labor because the captain's handwriting, while distinct and very pretty, was difficult to read. His letters were over-slanted and interlocked with delicate scroll-like swirls. It was beautiful to look at, but very difficult to read. He didn't seem to notice that he did it.

The days turned quickly into a week, then two weeks, and Wendy began to wonder if Peter had already forgotten her. She voiced this idea to Hook, who seemed less annoyed than she expected. He took her to the poop deck and pointed out the sky and the changes in the sea, which he claimed were usually portents of Peter's emotions. "It seems unlikely that Pan has forgotten you, my beauty," he said, staring into the water. "Rather, I think you weigh quite heavily on his mind. The only question, really, is why we have yet to see him." Wendy didn't know how she felt about Peter and whether he remembered or forgot her. She hated to think that she still needed him to want her, but she did, and she wanted to think that knowing so provided her some small comfort, but it didn't. The fact was that she wanted very badly to be in his company again, and it made her feel terrible. This was due, in part, to what she recently discovered about her young friend, but mostly to her relative happiness on board _The Jolly Roger_.

Hook, for his part, was restless. Wendy guessed it was because of Pan, and she was almost right. After the first week passed, he barely questioned her about the night she arrived. Her telling of the night's events seemed to finally fit for him. She had to believe that was the case because she couldn't believe James Hook ever gave up on anything. He still questioned her thoroughly about other things, and he even opened himself up to more than one question a night, though he was careful to decide what he would answer and what he wouldn't.

One night, Wendy was finishing a piece of apple tart while Hook poured the brandy and lit a fire. The island was becoming fiercely cold at night, so much so that, aside from the fire, Hook also had to send a velvet jacket down to Leonard Gris for alteration so Wendy wouldn't freeze while she slept. He claimed this was to keep her chattering teeth from waking him in the middle of the night more than for her comfort, but she saw the smile he wore as he said it, and knew it was meant in jest. As she chewed the last bite of desert, Wendy watched Hook tend the new fire; he knelt against the fireplace, carefully adding to the kindling and poking at it. He'd tied his hair back at the base of his neck with a black silk ribbon that was only just visible through the curls gathered there. Wendy wondered if he had always taken this precaution or if he'd had to learn the hard way to keep his hair away from flame. His white sleeves were rolled up to the elbow exposing clean skin lightly speckled with goose bumps despite the slowly growing fire. She marveled night after night at his ability to create a good fire that was enough to warm the cabin but not enough to get out of control, which was something to worry about when one lived on ship made almost entirely out of wood. She set her observations aside for a time and began tidying up the table while he continued to tend the fire. It was, perhaps, not the most exciting routine, but it was becoming hers, and she enjoyed it. She stacked the used plates in a basket along with other empty dishes, and then disposed of the waste. Food that could be saved went into another basket to be delivered to the cook. Wendy carried the baskets out of the cabin and set them next to the door, as always, before returning to Hook and the warmth of a fire that was still small, but healthy; it was most welcoming.

Hook smiled at her return and unrolled his sleeves, a feat more difficult than it ought to have been because of his hook, but he did it well. He pulled on his deep crimson jacket and sat, beckoning for Wendy to do the same. She did, and the routine continued. "Now, then," Hook said, delighting in the fire and his brandy, "What do you see happening in the near future, Wendy?"

"Whatever do you mean, Captain?" Wendy asked, pulling a fur-lined blanket over her lap and reaching for her brandy. "I don't know what will happen with Peter any more than you do, sir."

"Dear girl, I do not only mean with regards to Pan." Hook's eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fire; he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind his ear and continued, "Surely you are not so deeply under his spell that you see no more in your future than only _Pan_."

"Oh," Wendy said, and she wondered if it was Peter's spell or one of her own making that kept her thoughts with him. "I don't know, sir. As I have told you previously, I don't know what is in store for me either in Neverland or out of it."

"You must at least have an idea of what you would like to happen."

"I'm… I'm not sure I do, Captain." Wendy sighed and met Hook's eyes. "Am I no longer at your mercy?"

"You are not a prisoner, if that is what you mean."

"I'm not allowed out of the cabin on my own."

"You are not a prisoner, but I am not a fool. I cannot have you running around the ship aimlessly without purpose."

"As if I would!"

"Mightn't you? Perhaps instead you would steal a boat to return to the island."

"No!" Wendy shouted, though she had no idea why. Hook only reacted with his eyebrows, raising them slightly. "That is, I wouldn't do such a thing. I would never do such a thing to you," Wendy said.

"Flee into the night, you mean?" he asked.

"Well, yes…"

"It seems to me, dear girl, that you flee into the night rather frequently. You fled from home to Pan, you fled from Pan to me; where will you go next, I wonder?"

"Do not patronize me, Captain."

"I meant to do no such thing," Hook said, his eyes gleaming with something, though Wendy couldn't say what. "I only said what is true."

"I won't flee from the ship" Wendy said, a calm expression on her pretty face. She looked exactly as she had when she combed her hair at Hook's dressing table her first morning on board, though she wasn't aware of it either time. Her jaw was set, but gracefully, and her back was straight. The elegance of her body language added a maturity to the simple words she had chosen.

"By all means, my dear," Hook said as he stood up, "do ignore my thoughtless musings." He bowed politely and smiled at her, and even Wendy had to admit that it was, for once, not a patronizing smile. "Forgive me for upsetting you; it was not my intention." He lingered only for a moment, but long enough to reach forward and brush a stray lock of hair from Wendy's eyes and tuck it behind her ear as he had done with his own hair not long before. His head tilted slightly to the left, but he left the cabin without saying another word.

Wendy sat still in her chair for several minutes as she contemplated what Hook was calling his "thoughtless musings." They both knew he was right, but he seemed unwilling to push the issue and that in and of itself was something about which to wonder. She reluctantly moved from her place near the fire to the sofa bed that had become her own. More blankets had been brought in for her to snuggle under, but even after wrapping herself from ears to toes, she felt chilled.

The cold Wendy felt under her many layers of blankets did not compare to the frosty wind sweeping across the water. Hook paced up and down the deck for a half hour before settling at his favored spot at the aft railing on the poop. His back was rigid as he stood with his palms flat against the carved railing. He sighed and felt the chilled air tug at his lungs, but ignored any discomfort he might have felt; he had dealt with so much worse. His thoughts turned to Wendy, a subject that was not only uncomfortable but also confusing. What did she want? What would she do? Before he could think longer, he heard the distinct and familiar whisper of dirty feet alighting on the deck; he smiled. "Pan," Hook said without turning around.

"Hook."

A long silence passed before Hook sighed again and turned to face his enemy. "We meet again. Will it be 'have at thee' or a parley?" If he was worried about combat, it didn't show; his elbows supported him against the railing as he leaned back. He knew that if Peter had been intent on fighting, they would already be at it, but he remained alert. In truth, he suspected that Peter was more scared than anything, scared that he had made a very big mistake in letting Wendy get away from him for a second time, and that fear was something Hook was more than happy to exploit.

"Where is Wendy?" Peter asked. He narrowed his eyes but made no move to fight other than fingering the hilt of his sword. He was agitated but not afraid. "What did you do with her?"

"_Do_ with her? Whatever do you mean, Pan?" Hook laughed as much as the cold air allowed before adding, "I have done nothing to young Miss Darling. It seems any damage done can be blamed only on _you_."

Peter's eyes lit up and he stomped his foot against the deck. Hook was lying; he always lied because that's what pirates did, wasn't it? "I didn't do anything!"

"As I have heard it told, Wendy was savagely attacked in her sleep." He pushed himself up from the railing and stepped forward, delighting in the expression that formed on the boy's face as he spoke. It was as close to guilt as Peter ever got, but a lot more like self pity. It impressed Hook nonetheless because an inner dialog was something he never believed capable for Pan. Catching the momentary opening in the boy's emotional armor, Hook grinned wickedly and drew out every word as he said, "She ran away from you, Pan."

"No! She got lost in the forest!"

"But you know she is not lost now, or you would not be looking for her here."

"You… you kidnapped her again!"

"Ah," Hook snorted. "How very predictable."

"We looked everywhere and the mermaids told us Wendy is here!"

"Did the mermaids tell you that Miss Darling has been in our care _willingly_ for two weeks?"

"They just said you had her, Hook, and you do!" Peter was on the defensive, flushed in the cheeks and bouncing from heel to toe; Hook moved closer.

"That fact is not in dispute, Pan," Hook said, raising his eyebrows in mock sympathy. "Tell me, does it upset you more that you took so long in finding her or that she has not tried to find you?"

Peter's face contorted with confusion and rage; he unsheathed his sword and swung at the much taller figure in front of him. His blade was blocked effortlessly by the captain's hook. "I know you have her," Peter cried, pulling his sword away before striking again and again only to be stopped by the hook. A kick from Hook's left foot threw Peter back, but he bounced into the air and landed again, putting his sword back in its sheath. He could wait to fight Hook, at least as long as it took to find Wendy.

Hook rolled his eyes and sighed, finally replying to Peter, "And I have not denied her presence, Pan."

"Bring her to me, Hook, or I'll—"

"You'll _what_, Pan? You'll fight me for her?"

"Yes!" Peter floated high enough to be at eye level with his enemy, his expression as fierce as he could make it. "There will be a war and I will win Wendy back from you!"

"You are too stupid to realize this, boy, but it is not me with whom you must wage that war," Hook whispered, and for a moment he thought the boy looked afraid. Was it possible that he wasn't too stupid to understand? In a flash, the fear was lifted from Peter's face and replaced with a vacant hatred. Hook recognized that face; it was the face he always saw when they fought. It wasn't about Wendy; it was about the game. It was always about the game. "Go back to your tree house, Pan," Hook said.

"I'll be back," Peter spat, and he flew away, leaving a bitterly cold wind in his place. Hook watched the flying speck until it broke through the canopy of trees and disappeared, and he had no doubt that Peter Pan would return soon for his surrogate mother. He tried to believe that the uneasiness he was experiencing at the thought of a fight was more for the sake of the ship and less for the outcome where Wendy was concerned, but even as he barked out orders to prepare for a possible attack, he knew it was a lie.

After triple checking the cannons and weapon supplies, Hook finally made it to his cabin. He tried to enter quietly, but saw that it didn't matter when two bright eyes were peering at him through the semi darkness. "You are awake," he said.

Wendy yawned and pulled her mountain of blankets up to her face, "Only a little," she said. "I couldn't sleep." She smiled at him, "What's all the noise above?"

Hook crossed the room and sat at her side on the sofa. He stared down at her, suddenly afraid to ask the question he'd been burning with for what he now realized was much longer than the last few hours. He tentatively laid a hand over Wendy's covered shoulder and asked, "Do you want to stay on the ship, Wendy?"

"Do you mean would I rather stay here than live with Peter?"

"I mean," Hook said, looking down at his hand and then back to her eyes, "I mean, would you rather stay on the ship than do anything else?"

"Oh," Wendy whispered, and she looked away from the captain's prying eyes. She understood at least a little of what he was asking, and it took her by surprise. It was hard for Wendy to realize that she was happier on the ship than she had ever been anywhere else, including England. She turned her eyes back to his face and smiled again. "I think I would like that," she said, finally.

The weight of fear lifted from Hook's shoulders as quickly as it had descended upon them. He smiled back and stood up, never taking his eyes off her. She was already snuggling back under her blankets, so he walked away and got ready for bed as quietly as possible.

Hours later, Wendy found herself awake and so cold she thought she might die of it. She was disoriented for a moment and had to sit up and take a good look around before recalling that she was in the captain's cabin on board _The Jolly Roger_, and it was a happy realization when it came. She could see Hook's desk and the fire, still active, but waning; to her far left, Hook lay asleep in his bed. It took her a moment to realize that the noise she heard was his breathing. Gathering several of the blankets around her, Wendy stood and walked to the window behind the desk to watch the water. The first thing she noticed was the calmness of the sea, but the brightness of the sky was what made a lasting impression. Every star was clear and defined; the mist that had obscured them for so long was gone, and the very little Wendy had learned about Neverland was more than enough to help her to the conclusion that Pan was ready for a fight. She felt much less comfort in that knowledge than she might have expected.

A sudden chill ran through her body and she pulled the blankets tighter but to no avail. She walked on the tips of her toes to Hook's bed and knelt against the side closest to him. He was lying on his stomach, face turned toward her, eyes and mouth gently closed. His left arm was raised and tucked under the pillow. Wendy noticed that his hair was still tied back and reached for the barely visible black ribbon, but when she tugged the knot loose, two blue eyes shot open and stared intently at her face as if their owner had not just been asleep.

"Captain!" she gasped.

"May I ask what you are doing, my dear?" The captain's voice was groggy, but did not lack its usual edge; his face remained calm.

"I woke up, sir…" she said in a voice that was just above a whisper. "It's just very cold and I woke up."

"Please do advance to the point where I become involved."

Wendy blushed and looked at the floor. She was still holding the long black ribbon, winding it around her fingers. "I just thought you would be more comfortable," she said, but he was still staring at her when she raised her eyes again. "Captain?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

"I know there is a fire and you have made sure there are blankets and clothing and—"

"What is it, Wendy?"

"I appreciate it all, sir, I do, only it is very cold tonight, much colder than any of the other nights, and—"

"_And?_"

"Do you think I could perhaps sleep in the bed with you, Captain? It's just I think it will be much warmer with all the blankets and both of us." It all came out in a jumble, but Wendy finally worked up the nerve to ask, and her face was so flushed that it showed even in the darkness.

Hook was eying her curiously, but finally sighed into his pillow before scooting himself backward and lifting the blankets. "Get in," he said.

Wendy wasted no time in crawling under the covers and was instantly warmed by the heavy blankets. She did her best to conceal her extreme embarrassment, but Hook didn't seem to care, anyway, and he was already punching his new pillow into a more comfortable shape and closing his eyes. Wendy scooted close enough to whisper. "The sky is clear, Captain," she said. "Peter is going to come soon, isn't he?"

"Yes," Hook said, not even opening his eyes.

"And all the noise earlier, that was you preparing?"

"Yes."

"Did he come to you?"

Hook's eyes finally parted and he stared at Wendy for several minutes. "Yes," he said, "Pan came. He is insistent that you will return to him. You have told me that you will not; knowing what you know now, is that still the truth?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then go to sleep, my dear, so that I might also find rest before defending your will."

Smiling, Wendy turned over and snuggled into the new warmth; she was asleep in minutes. Hook took more time in returning to sleep, much of it spent watching her curiously. He was not completely surprised by her request to join him in the bed, though it had initially shocked him. It did make a fair bit of sense, and even he had to admit to himself that he was more comfortable with the extra warmth the arrangement provided. She had come to trust him, and of that he was glad. He couldn't tell yet if it was a good or a bad thing, but he knew he wanted her around. Hook reached across the space between his own body and Wendy's and barely touched his fingertips to the soft fabric of her jacket. Now that she was around, he didn't want to let her go.


	12. A Wonderful Boy

**Author Notes:** I want to apologize for the time it has taken to update and for the shortness of this chapter. This semester is extremely busy for me. Several of you have messaged me asking that I don't stop writing the story, and I promise I won't.

Again, I'm sorry for the length of this chapter, but I thought it would be a sign of my slow but sure work toward the end. I'm also almost finished with the chapter after this one, in which our favorite Captain will finally fight the whelp.

Thanks again to Anna for her continued willingness to read, and also to my friend Ryan.

Please keep reading and reviewing and especially sending messages; it's the best part of checking my email. :)

* * *

If Peter Pan had been in possession of a pipe, he would have smoked it as he paced furiously from one end of his underground dwelling to the other; it would have suited the aura he aimed to emit, though he did not understand why. The Lost Boys watched him quietly, not daring to vocalize their questions or guesses concerning his purpose, but they were awed by his measured steps and the determined, wrinkled dip in his brow. Tinkerbell flitted along, joining his agitated path and jingling questions that were routinely ignored by Peter.

The night continued in that course, and the Lost Boys drifted off to sleep one by one. Tinkerbell abandoned her interrogation for the comfort of her apartments, and Peter continued his gait. He had been successful in many attacks against the pirates, even on their own ship, but this time was different. Hook had Wendy again, and he didn't seem worried about what Peter might do about it. For his part, Peter assumed Hook was lying, though he couldn't remember about what. He only knew that he had to save Wendy, and every moment the thought reoccurred to him, his usual winning smile returned for a moment before he remembered the other parts of that grand adventure. His main concern was that Wendy had acted rather foolish and run away from him. Growing up a few years made her dull, apparently. Peter stopped his pacing long enough to scowl at the unfairness of it, but continued his path, now walking across the room, up the walls, and across the ceiling before returning to the floor. He didn't usually bother to plan an attack; he just _went_, so why couldn't he do it? Part of his problem might have been that, like all children, he was more than a little sensitive about the attention he was paid, and where attention was concerned, he was used to being the center of it. Wendy had hurt him badly by running away without him, and it wasn't fair. He wanted to rescue her, but she wasn't doing it right, not playing like they used to. "It _isn't fair_!" Peter whispered, and he was so saddened when the words left his lips that he faltered in his walk up the walls. The moment passed quickly enough that he didn't even notice it and all was well again. Wendy probably just forgot how to play because she got old. He could fix that, though, because he was Peter Pan, and Peter Pan could do anything.

Just like that, it occurred to him. Just like that, he knew how to save Wendy. "Lost Boys!" he shouted, dropping gracefully back to the floor. "Lost Boys! Wake up!" The pile of boys in front of Peter shook awake, and stared at him. Even Tinkerbell stuck her head out to hear what Peter would say. He was grinning with shining teeth and twinkling eyes. "We're going to rescue Wendy, and I know just how!"

"How, Peter?!" the boys shouted. Their eyes were alert, now, and they twitched with excitement at the coming adventure.

"I'm Peter Pan," Peter said, "I can do it; I'm a wonderful boy!" He crowed loudly and flipped backward.

The underground tree house was so alive with clapping that birds sleeping in nearby trees above flew away to find quiet. Peter, Tinkerbell, and the Lost Boys had a plan, such as it was, worthy of their usual fun, and tomorrow they would begin an adventure and rescue Wendy, their pretend mother, though they did not remember her as such. None of them except Tinkerbell—and Peter, sometimes—could remember a time when Wendy wasn't their mother, or a time when Peter was not a wonderful boy. They laughed and played all night, knowing that the coming day would put things back as they should be.


	13. Red Sky at Morning

**Author Notes:** Thank you very much for all of the kind reviews and private messages. They really mean a lot to me, and they keep me focused on trying to imagine the story even when I can't write it because of school or other problems. Ah, to live in a world where I could do nothing but write about Hook... Anyway, please keep the messages coming. I hope to post links to accompanying illustrations with the next couple chapters, so keep an eye out for that note.

This chapter was tricky for me, so I hope you like it. I am already deep into the next installment. Bear with me, friends!

* * *

Early morning sunshine lit _The Jolly Roger_ with a dim rainbow of colors. The frost had melted, creating more work for sleepy deckhands whose morning was only improved by the renewed warmth of the island after weeks of progressively colder days. Their captain was not as easily cheered. He knew what it meant for the sun to beam at them from above, and though they had been prepared since Pan's departure the night before, Hook was only tentatively arrogant in his expectations. He'd awakened pleasantly enough, if a little too warm from the temperature increase coupled with several very heavy blankets and a second body in his bed. At first, he worried that Wendy would also stir if he got out of bed, but she slept so soundly that her breathing didn't change even when he untangled one of her hands from his hair. Smee's morning visits to help the captain dress never seemed to wake her, either, but both men were extra quiet. Smee thought, and rightly so, that the silence had a lot more to do with Pan than with worrying about Wendy. For what seemed like a very long time, the only sound within the cabin was Wendy's slow, steady breathing and the occasional rustling of a garment or tinkle of teacups on saucers. It was only when the hook locked into place on his right arm that the captain spoke, brushing imaginary dust from his purple jacket. "Pan will come for her today," he said. Both men looked at Wendy, but for Hook it lasted longer than a glance. "Tell Starkey to see that the men are prepared."

"Always are, Cap'n, but I'll help get 'em schooled on today's happin's."

"She said she wants to stay on the ship, Smee."

"I reckoned so, Cap'n," Smee nodded, pouring more tea into both cups before adding, "Bit of a wonder what Pan'll do 'bout that." Hook made a face that meant "indeed" and followed it with a sigh. As much as he looked forward to fighting with Pan, he knew that while Wendy stayed on the ship as his guest it would never be allowed to end how Hook wanted it to. She would never let him kill the boy unless it was an irreproachable claim of self defense, and still it would be a grey area. He never said as much to Smee, but even his more simple-minded companion could guess it. Smee rejoined his captain looking at the girl curled into sleep, a hand across the pillow next to hers. "Ought I to wake 'er, Cap'n?"

"No, Smee," Hook said, pity twisting his voice for the first time in decades; it both delighted and disgusted him. "Let it wait for now." He led the way out of the cabin. They both made for the poop deck where Gentleman Starkey informed the captain of their preparations. Hook made a cursory inspection of the ship and skies before satisfying himself that no ruse was already in place. After giving orders to the men and completing a few more checks of the sky, he settled into a good place for observation and began thinking about the coming day. There were some events about which he could be sure: Pan would attack; Wendy would protest any fighting on her behalf; there would be fighting regardless of Wendy's complaints, and so on along those lines, but it was what _might_ happen that bothered him. What would Wendy say? Would she offer to go back to Pan despite her promise to stay on board _The Jolly Roger_? What loyalty did she really feel toward Hook, and why did she feel it? It was true that he had taken good care of her when she needed it, and he had been a good host, but her (and his) past behaviors were still pieces of the same puzzle. Hook traced the silver filigree on his baldric and stared past the sea to the pale outline of the island. The sun was steadily rising in the sky, its rays piercing the small wisps of remaining clouds and twinkling on the surface of the water. "Come now, Pan," Hook whispered, "it's bad form to keep people waiting."

The earliest hours of morning passed slowly for everyone except Wendy, who slept through most of them. Through all the noise of deck swabbing, order shouting, and artillery preparation, she slept as soundly as if she was back in her nursery. It was only when the constant, tedious sounds finally ceased that the dullness of quiet stirred her out of her dreams. Her eyes snapped open as quickly as if she had been awake all along and she sat up to find herself in the Captain's bed. She blushed only a very little when she recalled her boldness the previous night, but it was quickly dispelled by a paleness when she also recalled what most likely waited for _The Jolly Roger_ that day. Without even thinking to check for company in the room, Wendy rushed out of bed and threw her used clothes into a basket so she could wash. She threw on a shirt and leggings from her small stash of clothing and tied a blue and gold striped sash around her waist; the captain's black ribbon held back her hair. She made the final effort of pulling on her shoes and in less than ten minutes after she awoke, she was pulling the cabin door open and jumping to skip stairs on her way to the deck. Not even a moment later, she was scaling another staircase to reach the poop deck.

"Any news of Peter, Captain?" she asked, a little breathless.

Hook half turned from his spot against the railing to indicate that Wendy should join him. "I trust you slept well," he said.

"Oh, well, yes. Yes, sir, thank you," Wendy said, this time with a true blush creeping across her cheeks. "Thank you."

"Not at all, my dear, not at all." Hook smiled, but his eyes were fixed on the water below and his face partially obscured by his hair.

"Captain," Wendy said, leaning over the railing a little to see his face, "what news of Peter?"

Hook finally twisted enough to look at Wendy, and he was surprised at the happiness it brought him. She looked like part of his crew, though much nicer than the others, but still like she belonged on _The Jolly Roger_. He did not doubt that she would look beautiful in any frock he could find, but he knew he would always prefer the casual, unexpected loveliness of a crisp white shirt and silk scarf at her waist. The wind caught her hair as she looked up at him and he reached to push a few locks away from her face. "Pan has yet to arrive," Hook said, "but I look for him to be here soon."

"Why?" Wendy asked, scanning the sky curiously.

"Not up there, my dear," Hook said, and he indicated the water. Wendy eyed the ocean carefully but did not understand his meaning until Hook pointed out gentle ripples here or there and the careful, measured splashes that only belonged to mermaids' tails.

"Mermaids…" she said, still not sure of his meaning.

"They have heard, most likely from Pan himself, of his imminent attack. They will circle the ship day and night waiting for a battle."

"To help him?" Wendy asked.

"Not exactly," Hook said, a wicked smile playing across his face as he looked into the cold eyes of a passing mermaid. She twisted lazily with the waves, never taking her eyes from the ship; her pale skin looked like a moving rainbow under the water. Her hair twisted over her arms and shoulders and her breasts swayed with the current as her long tail flitted back and forth, just breaking the surface of the water. "They are strange creatures," he continued, breaking his stare to look at Wendy. "As much as they enjoy Pan's company on occasion, they will not hesitate to steal any of his mob who should fall overboard this day, and certainly more than one pirate has fallen victim to such a fate."

"Oh," Wendy said, and she gripped the railing tighter.

"They only began arriving in the last quarter hour, first two and now more than a dozen," Hook said. "Pan will likely have just been to the lagoon only right before they arrived, so I look for him to mount an offense sometime in the next half hour."

Hook was almost right about Peter's timing. Not three quarters of an hour from his guess, the first Lost Boy was sighted climbing over the railing on the starboard side. More followed shortly after, and the sound of yelling and swords clashing rang all along deck. The mermaids began to sing a dangerous song that sounded extremely inviting but mostly faded into the background of the battle noises. Hook and Wendy stood above the stairs leading to the poop watching the mayhem, and she voiced something strange that Hook's expression seemed also to say. "Where is he?"

"If I know Pan—" Hook began, but he stopped mid sentence and twirled around as fast as a cat. "Pan!" he said, and a positively terrifying expression came over his face.

"Boo!" was Peter's reply, and before Wendy could react to either of them, they fell into a deadly rhythm of swordplay, Hook dancing across the deck and Peter flying and bouncing all around him. If she hadn't been so frightened, she might have taken a moment to appreciate the grace of the captain and the undeniable fun of Peter.

A few minutes passed before Wendy gathered her wits and began shouting at Peter as he fought the captain only feet away. "Peter, really," she yelled, trying to be heard above the constant clang of steel on steel and eerie song of the mermaids below, "Peter, stop this at once!"

"Don't worry, Wendy," the boy grinned, ducking the captain's hook and dodging his sword, "I've come to rescue you!"

"I'm quite all right, Peter," Wendy yelled. She had just missed the tip of someone's blade, but when she had ducked to avoid it, someone else's elbow thrust painfully into her ribs. "Ooh!" she shouted, instinctively lashing out with her sword and just missing the side of a Lost Boy. She gasped, righted herself, and found her voice again. "I don't _want_ to be rescued!"

Peter laughed a hearty laugh and circled Hook three times before coming back to fight. "Of course you want to be rescued," he said. "Why else would you have pretended to get kidnapped?"

Wendy's face was hot with fury. How could she ever have found him loveable? It was impossible to reason with a child, especially one for whom being a child was a full time existence. He would never grow into being older, so why should she expect him to listen to reason? Somewhere behind her Wendy faintly heard the frightened yelp and then splash of a Lost Boy. She rushed to the port side to see one of the boys trying desperately to evade the circle of mermaids around him, but it was far too late for any help to come from the ship or his own will power. When the mermaids had fully surrounded him and pulled him under, he went willingly with all the desire in his heart showing through hazy eyes—at first. After a moment, his eyes grew with fear when he realized what was really happening, and when the first gulp of water burned his lungs, bubbles broke the surface of the water, temporarily obscuring his face as he cried out. He thrashed and twisted beneath the surface, but it was too late. Wendy was nearly sick from watching, but she hardly had a chance to feel anything. Before she could turn away from the water, two arms encircled her waist and lifted her from the ship. "Help," she screamed, wiggling and kicking as hard as she could.

"Don't worry, Wendy," Peter said, "I've got you! We can go back to the treehouse and you can be mother again."

"_No_!" she screamed, kicking furiously and throwing one elbow into Peter's side as he lifted her further. "I don't want to go back, Peter! Put me down!" For all of her yelling, Peter seemed only to find happiness in flying around between the sails and pointing out fights he thought looked interesting as they hovered above chaos on the ship. His face was careless with laughter; his eyes almost as full of nothing as had been the drowned boy's. At a loss for what to do, Wendy was completely surprised to see how focused Peter became when one chilled voice called to them from the deck.

"Tell me, Pan," Hook said, grinning, "is this how you stole her away from her family?" He walked casually closer to where Peter and Wendy hovered in the air, not minding the skirmishes on either side of his path. "She came to me willingly, you know. It seems that she has not only forsaken your _simple_ company, but also much prefers mine." The wickedness of Hook's expression grew to a malice so complete that Wendy looked away, but Hook kept walking slowly toward them. "She has grown up, hasn't she? How lovely a sight she is to behold, do you not agree, Pan? Even a half-wit such as yourself must have noticed how very lithe and—dare I say—_enticing_ your young friend has become in the years since she last abandoned you." Peter nervously shifted his gaze from Hook to Wendy, who was almost as confused as he was, and blushing furiously. Hook's low, malevolent voice brought their attention back to him as he continued speaking, "Witness, Pan, the flush on her long throat as she writhes to escape your grasp and return to mine." He stood less than the reach of his sword away but used his voice to cut Peter deeper than any blade ever would. "Do you think, Pan," he asked, "that any lady so desirable would _willingly_ spend time with you? I quite suspect that your own mother wouldn't even have you. Is that the _real_ story of your life, Pan? Are you so tangled up in your own foolish make believe that you can't—" If Hook was going to say anything else, he didn't get the chance; there was no topic more sensitive or dangerous to Peter than his own mother. Peter dropped Wendy and flew straight for his enemy, tears streaking his cheeks, sword cutting hard into the air between them and crashing into Hook's; they were at it again. Wendy hit the deck hard but was hurt less by the fall than what she felt inside. Part of her wanted to save Peter, and another part wanted to kill him herself, leaving several parts that might have words for Captain Hook, if they could embolden themselves.

Sensing the loss of fun from their captain, the Lost Boys began to fight with less enthusiasm and were easily overtaken by the pirates. They were gathered but not restrained because the violence playing out before them was entrancing enough to keep anyone of them from trying to run away. None of them would try to save Peter, either, because there was a strict ban on making him look less valiant and also on fighting Hook. The only person still anywhere near the conflict was Wendy, and she was at a loss for what to do. Anyone could see that if it kept going the way it was, then it would end like it did years ago, and while Wendy had no desire to return to the treehouse with him, she didn't want Peter to die. He was already fighting on his feet as it was, though, and he was no match for the Captain without flight. Peter was a terrific swordsman, but Hook was almost twice as tall and more than twice as armed against Peter's short sword.

It happened almost before Wendy could worry about it happening. Peter was on the ground with blood tracks covering the tears on his left cheek where he took a particularly hard slap, and Hook standing triumphant above. Few scratches marred his fierce countenance, but his hat was missing, discarded sometime during the duel, and his hair was swirling about his face in the wind. He stepped closer to the fallen boy, playfully swishing his rapier back and forth above his enemy. Wendy rushed between them before the captain could do anything worse than laugh terribly and incite cheers from his crew. "Don't hurt him!" Wendy cried, running to Peter's side and tugging his arm to help him up. "Captain, please," she said, "just let him go."

Hook glared down at the boy, then Wendy, but his expression softened when he saw the sad curve of her lips part to whisper, "Please, sir." Something cruel from deep down inside Hook told him to stab the boy outright; something more cruel told him to toss Pan to the mermaids, but he ignored his urges and only glared at Wendy.

"Let him go?" he whispered, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Let him _go?_ By what manner of ill conceived faith in my disposition have you come to the conclusion that I would do any such thing?"

"I-I don't know, sir," Wendy whispered, cradling Peter's head and shoulders in her lap. "I only thought you wouldn't kill him now… I thought you mightn't need to anymore." She looked into the startling blue eyes of the man for whom she had begun to care more than she might have thought possible even in her most wild imaginings. He was staring ferally at the little boy in her arms as a cat might stare at a mouse. She tore her eyes from his face to look at Peter, who only stared blankly at her face. "He's only a little boy," Wendy said hoarsely. "He is a nuisance, to be sure, and he will always be such, but, Captain," she said, allowing a single tear to slip down her cheek, "he is only a little boy."

His eyes still flared dangerously, but he sheathed his sword and waved a hand. "Take them away," he said, "_this_ time." Hook savagely kicked Pan's prone form from Wendy's arms and knelt beside her to whisper, "You will not move me to pity again."

In an instant, Peter had jumped up and swirled into the air, then back down to Wendy, but before he could grab her, she was ready with his own sword pointed at his throat. "Leave, Peter," she said.

"We will, Wendy, but first we have to—"

"_Dammit_, Peter," Wendy yelled, "I don't want to go with you! I'm staying on the ship. This is where I belong now." She looked away from the expression on Peter's face as the truth finally dawned in his eyes. He looked from Wendy to Hook, whose blue eyes twinkled merrily as he watched the boy's heart break.

"You're a real grown up, Wendy." Peter looked like he might vomit.

"Yes, Peter," she sighed, and she lowered his sword.

"You shouldn't have done that," Peter said, scowling. He lunged forward to take his sword and thrust it into his belt as he jumped into the air. "I don't need a mother anyway. I _never have_!"

"Peter, this doesn't mean we have to be enemies," Wendy tried to soothe, but the change in Peter's expression was enough to stop her words. He was looking at her like he looked at any grownup but with the special extra contempt he only had for pirates. The oblivious glee had mostly returned to his face, bringing back the rose hue so familiar to his freckled cheeks. His pearly teeth flashed brilliantly in the sun as he soared into the sky, singing all the way. Wendy didn't shift as pirates moved about her picking up fragments of the ship and mopping up blood. Hook ordered a boat to take the remaining Lost Boys back to the island, not wanting to deal with them. The mermaids eventually left, and it seemed as if life would return to normal aboard the ship except for a young lady standing completely still in the middle of the deck, staring at the island.

Hours passed, and Wendy stood alone watching the island. It was as glorious as ever, shining mercilessly in the sun. She didn't know what she had expected, but she had at least hoped for a cloud or some kind of midday storm; it would have meant that Peter was at least somewhat saddened by the way events had played out, but from the shameless display of celebratory smoke signals over the Indian camp and the glittering wisps of light darting in and out of the canopy as fairies danced against the gentle purple of the early evening sky, she could see that Peter felt quite well. Hook, at one point during her voyeurism, had made an attempt to speak with her, but she made her disinterest in his company very plain and he only bowed and left without another word. He was displeased, but had other matters that required his attention and did not push her will. Hook could not imagine what he had done to the girl, and decided that her unpleasant disposition was owing to Pan's simplistic dismissal of her friendship.

For her part, Wendy felt a mixture of relief and fury. It was true that she no longer desired to be with Peter, but she was seething with anger at Hook for the way he used her during the battle. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and rage as she recalled the crude manner in which the captain had spoken of her. Despite her protestations of belonging on _The Jolly Roger_, she was almost willing to jump overboard and take her chances with the mermaids, though she knew her next battle laid with Hook, and of that she was justifiably terrified. Her face twisted into a grimace somewhere between the likes of Peter or Hook, and she pounded a fist on the railing. "They're bloody tyrants," she whispered, "both of them." She pounded the railing several more times before finally straightening up like a proper English Lady and flipping her hair away from her face. Her scowl melted into a serene glower that was much more Hook than Peter, but grew more and more independently Wendy Darling as she made her way to the captain's cabin. She stood silently outside the door for a moment, and in that instant she was like the Lost Boy who fell to the mermaids: tranquil for a half second as she pushed the gilded door handle down, without fear during the breath she inhaled as she stepped into the room, and, finally, filled with dread as she met eyes with Hook and realized she was already beneath the surface with water in her lungs. The difference was that she didn't struggle; rather, she took another deep breath and plunged in further.

A smile was instantly on the clever lips of the captain. "Wendy," he whispered, "_darling_."


	14. Calling Out Winter

Wendy let the door close behind her and stepped into the warm light of Hook's cabin. Twilight glittered through the windows and reflected on the sea, but all she saw was the captain. He sat in a large armchair with a massive bound volume opened in his lap, hook poised to turn the page. She stepped closer. "I won't ask how you could do such a thing," she said, "because I would be lying if I said I did not already know."

Hook stared at her, genuinely puzzled. "What are you talking about, my dear?"

For a moment, Wendy's eyes rolled and she looked much younger than she ought to have, but she regained her composure and stood firm. Her arms rested at her sides, but her hands balled into small fists. "You know perfectly well what I mean, Captain." She tilted her head and stared hard at him, but he only looked back with a curious glint in his eyes. "You used me, sir. You used me to torment him." Dawn broke across the captain's glace as she spoke, and he nodded once then closed his book slowly. His lips crept into a familiar languid smile, but Wendy did not give him a moment to reply. "Please do not insult my intelligence by denying it."

"I would never do such a thing, my dear," he said, leaning against the plush back of his chair. "For one, you are absolutely correct—at least on one point—about what transpired earlier today, but I am also, of course, a gentleman, and—"

"You are _not_ a gentleman!" Wendy shouted, finally letting out her anger. "A gentleman would not have spoken about me in such a fashion in front of his crew, and certainly not only for the sakes of embarrassing me and teasing a child!"

The instant Wendy's ire rose, the captain's face became dangerous, but he sat still. "What do you know of gentlemen?" he asked. "Is your father a gentleman? Do gentlemen seek to rid themselves of the treasure that is their daughters at the earliest convenience?"

"Leave my father out of this, Captain."

"A pity it is, Miss Darling, if you think so highly of him and so little of me. _I_ took you in; _I_ fought for what _you_ asked of me, not for what I thought was necessary or best."

Wendy laughed and threw her arms into the air before placing her hands against her hips. "What could you know about what is best for me?" she shouted. If she had been paying attention to him, she might have noticed a small flicker of hurt pass over the captain's eyes, but she was blind to it, even as it passed into his words.

"I know what you claimed to want, that you asked to stay here."

"I asked not to go back to Peter."

Perhaps if she had taken note of the subtle mood changes of the captain, she would not have been as shocked by the more blatant shift of disposition, and, really, it ought not to have surprised her anyway when he stood, recklessly pounded his hook into the volume next to him, and threw it across the room only feet from her head. Wendy screamed and jumped away from the crashing book, looking both shocked and furious. She stared open-mouthed at Hook and attempted to catch her breath to more easily speak, but he did not give her enough time. "Ungrateful Whelp is the nicest name I can call to mind for you at the moment," he said. "I might have guessed you would be this predictable."

Wendy laughed. "_I'm_ predictable? What do you call that crude song and dance routine you played today with Peter?"

"I call it winning the day," Hook said, not bothering to look at her. He fiddled with one of the buttons on his jacket and sighed. His smile returned, but it was as cruel and patronizing as it had been the day he made her walk the plank. "I call _this_," he said, waving a hand in her direction, "predictable. You are a simple two-act play, my dear. Act one is made of your attempts to receive something from some would-be fool, and act two is you throwing everything back into his face. First there was your father, then Peter, and finally me. I have been duped. I really did think better of you." He sighed again began to brush imaginary dust from the front of his waistcoat, pretending not to notice Wendy shake with rage.

Several minutes passed before Wendy spoke, but when she did, it was with tears pouring out of her eyes. "You are every inch a monster!" she screamed. "You think you did great things for me, and maybe you did, but it was only as a means to _your_ end, the _only_ end you've ever wanted!" She breathed quickly between sobs that only worsened when she saw the embarrassed look on the captain's face as he observed her. "I don't know what I expected," she said, glaring fiercely. "I ought to have known it would always be about Peter. It's _always_ been about Peter. It's _always_ going to be about your stupid obsession with a little boy! You're just as selfish and stunted as he is! You hate him so much, but all of the things you claim to detest are mirrored in your own disgusting personality!" She punctuated her shouts with a well-timed kick at the volume he'd thrown, and the book crashed into the table next to his chair.

Hook only glared at Wendy, and when he spoke his voice was perilous, "Tell me, my dear, what is this new epistemic privilege you are imagining, and from where has it come? What is it that makes you think you suddenly know so much about me, or even about Pan? You barely know yourself, silly girl." He casually bent down to retrieve his book and gently placed it on the table as if it was not totally destroyed by his own outburst. His words had affected her, but only in that they made her more furious, and he knew as much. She was right, of course, that he was obsessed with the destruction of Pan, but if she was daft enough to believe that it was because they were alike or because he was selfish, then she was not half as bright or interesting as he initially thought. He felt a sudden pang of disappointment at the idea that she did not truly understand his vendetta, that she thought it was so simple; he longed for someone to understand, but it could not be forced. At the very least, he desired someone in whom he could confide things darker than murder and more personal than flesh.

Wendy had no way of knowing what was on Hook's mind, but she was able to detect melancholy in his fantastic eyes when it flickered there, and it was for that reason that she managed to soften her voice, even through her anger. "I know more than you realize," she said. She didn't know—not really—why she felt suddenly compelled to be less abrasive, but she found that Hook's face softened slightly along with her voice; more importantly, she found that it pleased her to see him less agitated. Now that she was not overcome with rage, she found it difficult to look directly into his eyes, but she forced herself to lift her head and stare into his face after wiping tears away from her cheeks. "I know you didn't start the fight," she said. "I know Peter started it a long time ago when he… when he cut off your hand."

Hook only blinked in response, but something happened behind his eyes that Wendy would have called surprise if she didn't know better. He regained control of his eyes and let an amused shadow cover any hint of how genuinely interested he really was in what Wendy might have to say. "How could you know such a thing?" he asked, tracing the hook with his left index finger as he spoke. "I am quite famously a murdering pirate; I might have started any old quarrel for any old reason, and certainly with such riff raff as one is likely to encounter in these parts."

A smile cracked Wendy's face momentarily, but she was too conscious of the truth of his words to take them lightly. "A thief and a murderer, no doubt, Captain," she said, "but not a man who would needlessly waste years on a few innocent children."

"They are most assuredly _not_ innocent," Hook said, and the renewed anger in his voice surprised them both.

"My point, sir, is that you have spent—well, I really have no idea how long, and I suspect you don't either—fighting back and forth with Peter, and I'm sure that had he not wounded you so egregiously and without provocation, then you would not still try so desperately to kill or equally cripple him." Wendy watched as Hook internalized her words; his eyes were shining but veiled with mistrust, and she thought them beautiful. As much as she wanted to hold onto her anger and lash out at him, she could not deny how much she had come to empathize with what she understood to be his position in the conflict. Peter was an obnoxious, arrogant, selfish child, and he would always be all of those things, even when he was adorable and enticing, it was his nature. Hook was more arrogant, sometimes more obnoxious, and more dangerous than anyone Wendy had ever known, but he at least owned up to it. He never claimed to be anything other than that for which he was known. It was that realization that diffused Wendy's anger.

Such ownership of one's deeds was not by any means an excuse or reason to pardon heinous acts, but it was at least honest, and it was more than she ever got from Peter. Moreover, it had been enough for the last couple weeks, and he had done more than prove his ability and even willingness to perform good acts. Wendy felt a jump in her chest as she finally allowed herself to feel that empathy again, and she stared intensely at Hook. She closed the space between them and carefully wrapped a hand around his hook. "I know how it happened," she said. "Peter told us. He said you were just leaning against a tree and… I don't know, but he even said that he only did it because he wanted to, that you had only just arrived and had never harmed him."

Confused, and a little annoyed with her sudden change in disposition, Hook frowned at Wendy and extricated his hook from her hand. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asked. Hadn't she just been screaming at him? What now possessed the girl?

"I don't know, sir."

Her intensity was beginning to trouble Hook, and he had to struggle not to push her away. He was angry that she was angry, but now she seemed full of pity, and there was very little that James Hook found more distasteful than pity. His annoyance grew and blossomed into full-blown acrimony, and he shoved Wendy backward. Her hurt expression made him feel worse than he expected. "I do not need your pity any more than I needed your contemptuous whining about being used," he snarled.

Wendy glared and again closed the gap between them, but this time she shoved him back, and because he was not expecting it, she managed to push him back into his chair. Pretending it was not a lucky accident, Wendy used the opportunity to crowd him so he could not get up without harming her and pointed a slender finger at his chest. "First of all, Captain, it was _not_ pity. It was compassion, and you would do well to learn the difference! Second, you obviously do need it or I would be dead by now and not part of your crew, and, finally," she said jabbing her finger hard into the flounce of his silk shirt, "What you call 'contemptuous whining,' I call correctly pointing out when you were being a first class, arrogant fool who could have at least had the decency to warn the young lady about which he spoke so crudely and certainly ought to have apologized afterward!" Wendy seemed to realize by the end of her outburst that she was in an extremely dangerous situation, if not through common sense, then definitely through the face of the captain. He was staring at her as if he could not decide how to kill her rather than just whether or not he would do it in the first place. As she realized this, she made an effort to jump back that failed when Hook snared her wrist in his left hand and used his sitting position to trap her legs between his; she was effectively immobilized. "Captain, I—"

"I apologize," Hook said. "I am not sorry for taunting Pan, or for what I said, but I am sorry that you felt violated by it, as that was not my intention." He waited patiently for a response, and when none came, said, "Well?"

"I, well… thank you, Captain," Wendy whispered.

"I trust you are sorry for manhandling me," He said, letting go of her wrist to inspect his shirt.

"Yes, sir, very," Wendy said quietly. "Only," she continued, "you did push me first."

"I already apologized. Now," he said, "no doubt you believe yourself to be fully informed on how this," he indicated his hook and continued, "came to be a part of me. You are more than likely somehow misinformed, but I do not desire to speak of it this evening. It is enough for me to know that you do not blame me or assume certain facts based on my past. Let that be enough for you for the time being, Wendy, please, and I will do my best to accept your compassion." He released her, but she did not move. Wendy smiled softly and stayed still between his legs. Sitting straight up, he was still nearly at eye level with her, and he could see a flush creep along her throat. He had meant every word he said to Pan that day; she was lovely. "Come here," he sighed and tugged her wrist gently until she fell into his lap and he allowed her to give him the hug he needed.


	15. Tell Her This

**Author Note:** I am so sorry about how long this took, and also that this is a single chapter after such a long break. I thought it would be better to post this than to post nothing, and hopefully this will be the first break in finishing this thing for good. Don't get me wrong, I love writing it, but it would be nice to have it done, right? :) Anyway, this chapter is kind of important for the relationship between Hook and Wendy, and it came about because I felt like they needed a moment for themselves after everything that had happened.

_Tell her something in my heart needs her more than even clowns need the laughter of the crowd. --_Del Amitri "Tell Her This"

* * *

After a few days of cleaning and minor repairs, _The Jolly Roger_ and her crew were able to return to the routine they'd followed for years. Two pirates had died in the battle, but their duties were fairly general and they had been easily replaced. Wendy thought more about it than anyone else, but she said nothing. Her own duties of copying Hook's logs and occasionally helping Smee kept her busy during the day, and she rarely had time to think about much else until dinner, and then her full attention was focused on Hook. Smee still sometimes joined them, but for the most part their evenings had become somehow more intimate than they used to be. Hook treated her differently; he was more considerate, perhaps kinder. He had always been courteous, but until recently she'd always felt somehow threatened by that courtesy. Now that it was balanced with his genuine effort to see to her happiness for its own sake and not for his, she found him to be almost sweet at times, but never sickeningly, and not always. However much he tried not to be, he was still occasionally taken by his temper, though never because of her, and she didn't mind, anyway.

Hook had given her free reign to wander where she would on the ship, provided that her duties were seen to. If she had a question, she was free to ask it, and he would usually answer it or send her to someone else who could if he was busy. At night, though, he would tell her almost anything she wanted to know. They still had not discussed how he'd lost his hand in any detail, but he told her a little about his life—what he could remember of it—before Neverland. After dinner they would sit by a window in his cabin and look out over the water as they spoke. When it got late, he would leave her to get ready for bed in private and return after she fell asleep. She wondered if he minded that she had decided to stay in his bed; he never said anything if he did. There was no need for it now that the cold weather had gone, but she felt more comfortable there, if a little embarrassed about her boldness. She had her side and he had his, and there was rarely any crossing of the invisible boundary between them, though sometimes a hand or leg would stretch further than usual and find the other's body.

Wendy smiled and paused in her transcription. She looked out the window to her left and saw Hook standing on the deck with Gentleman Starkey. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she enjoyed watching him. He was a fantastic sight to behold on any day, but today was different. It was warmer than usual, and he'd foregone the usual embroidered jacket and settled for only a loose shirt and soft cotton pants with a sash belted around his narrow hips. His hair stayed back in a neat ponytail tied with a purple ribbon that tangled in his curls when the wind blew. He somehow looked just as regal without all the embroidery and jewels. He must have felt her eyes because he turned his head and caught her in a stare, smiling. Wendy blushed a little and went back to her work, but she knew he was still watching. She kept her hand steady as she felt his eyes rake over what he could see through the window, but it was a difficult task not to smudge the ink. She nervously pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear and turned to the next page in Hook's log. Something in her stomach shifted uncomfortably as she tried to push his face out of her mind, but the discomfort was exciting; it reminded her of the first time she'd learned to fly. She pushed the thrill inside her away and got back to work, hoping for the rest of the afternoon to pass quickly.

"How far did you get with your work today, my dear?" Hook asked, pouring wine into a glass for Wendy.

"Several pages, sir," she replied. She chewed the last mouthful of her dessert and swallowed before wiping her mouth and standing to join Hook at the window. "I expect to finish that journal tomorrow and start on the next, if it is your wish."

"How very grand," Hood said. He handed her the glass of wine and indicated that she should sit. She did. "But perhaps not tomorrow."

"No, Captain?"

"Wendy," he said, sipping his wine and smiling at her. "Tell me, would you like to go ashore tomorrow?"

Wendy's eyes brightened. She had not left the ship since she'd been brought to it, and as much as she enjoyed being aboard, the very thought of sand beneath her feet excited her. "Oh, yes, Captain! Really?" She leaned forward in her chair and placed a small hand on Hook's forearm.

"Really," he said. "We have need of some supplies."

"And I may go with you?"

"Yes, my dear," he said, "If it pleases you."

Wendy set her glass down and jumped across the space between them to wrap her arms around Hook's neck. "Oh, it does, Captain! Thank you!"

Hook laughed a little and patted her back. He was still unaccustomed to this part of his new relationship with Wendy, and though it did not displease him, it made him slightly uneasy. He was not nearly inexperienced with women, but Wendy was… different. She was bright and beautiful, and she was not afraid of him anymore. He held still and allowed her to adjust herself into a sitting position across his legs as she had taken to doing from time to time. His arm settled across her back, his hook draped over her hip.

"Where will we go, sir?" Wendy asked.

Hook shrugged. "Here and there," he said as he swirled the wine in his glass. "You are familiar with our seaside garden already, I believe." He paused and Wendy nodded. "We shall go there in the morning and collect some of the crop, and then, weather and roguish little spawn permitting, we shall journey into a village and purchase other necessities."

Wendy's eyes lit up like suns. "There is a _village_? I don't remember there having been a village!"

"About that I am not surprised, my dear. Villages are hardly impractical enough to have been bothered with by Pan. All the same, there is a village. Where else did you think the lost boys who grew up went?"

"Peter never said."

"I would be shocked if he had. As I understand it, once they become too old, he either kills them or banishes them, at which point he ceases to remember that they exist. Some of them wander into the caves or the lagoon, and you can guess how they fare. Most make it to the village and find work there. Some of them wind up here."

"Really?"

"Really, though not for some time."

Wendy leaned her head onto his shoulder and sipped from her wine glass. She thought about the Lost Boys whom she already knew and wondered what might have become of them had they not left with her the first time she visited, and she thought about the ones who lived with Peter now. "Do any of them ever stay with Peter?"

"No. They all grow up eventually."

"All of them? Really?"

Hook sighed, but it was not out of annoyance. He tilted his head in thought and stared out at the sea for what seemed like a very long time. At last, he lowered his bright eyes to Wendy's and smiled the softest, most unalarming smile she'd ever seen. "All of them, Wendy," he whispered. "There is only one person who can avoid growing up forever." Wendy nodded and laid her head back against Hook's chest. They spoke no further on the subject of Lost Boys or anything else that night, and Wendy fell fast asleep as Hook continued to gaze out the window. Eventually, he surrendered to his own tiredness and carried the sleeping girl in his arms to the bed. He smiled as he laid her head against the pillow and pulled off her satin slippers. Without considering whether or not he ought to, Hook slipped into his bed and tugged Wendy closer. She stirred a little, but he only brushed her hair away from her cheek as he leaned down over her. He stared at her profile and her barely parted eyes, long lashes of both lids still so near each other. "I have heard that The Neverland is most frightening just before one falls asleep," he whispered, "but I always find it much more peaceful just then. While I can appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, the promise of another day trapped in this place has always haunted me beyond measure." Hook's eyes narrowed and focused on the moonlight falling into the window near his bed for a few minutes before he returned his gaze to Wendy. "You have made a palace out of a prison, my beauty." He barely smiled, but the tone of his voice was as near joy as it ever could be. "The truth is, I need your company; I need you. I have not had a reason to do anything other than take vengeance on Pan for so long that I had forgotten there were other things in the world." As he spoke, the long white fingers of his left hand traced her forehead and down her nose, but they stopped at her mouth. He could almost swear there was something winking at him from the right hand corner of Wendy's mouth. It was so beguiling that, without thinking about it, he leaned down and kissed the curious spot, then pressed his face into the pool of her hair on the pillow. "Wendy," he whispered, "I am glad you grew up." She smiled gently in her half sleep and imagined that when she woke up, her hidden kiss would be gone.


End file.
